The Radiant
by fury-shashka
Summary: There is always a choice to be made, and always a life to re-ignite.
1. Prologue

-

**Prologue**

_To be Apollonian: to be malicious and yet beautiful, to stun and blind, maim and destroy and yet nurture, be kind, be father-like, patriarchal, perhaps caring. To be creative and wild. To be cruel and vindictive. To be prophetic – see things, see farther, see in disjointed motion, grant no quarter, grant nothing, give everything. To conquer. To colonize and plough, dot vistas with signs of your presence, impregnate with truth and beauty and burgeoning inspired work. To be harmonious and to represent reason – the antithesis of ecstasy and disorder, of Dionysian intent, of furies, yet also to be complementary to these dark tendencies. To kill. To sing. To breathe life._

_-_


	2. Chapter 1

---

It made sense, really, that Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley would start seeing each other. The antagonism between the two would have eventually culminated in murder or sex, and, in eventuality, it turned out to be the latter.

The magic world shuddered when the first rumours of their relationship started to circulate. Things culminated when the first pictures of them were published in the daily papers. Ron Weasley fainted. Hermione Granger scolded. Molly Weasley knitted enough sweaters to be donated to an entire orphanage, all in the colours black and red. Harry Potter disappeared for two days and returned with a tan and a tattoo from a tattoo parlour located in Sardinia.

Lucius Malfoy had snapped his breakfast paper shut and walked from his solarium to his den to pour himself a morning scotch.

---

Draco stretched, lazily, beautifully, like a feline. Lying on her side next to him, Ginny smiled and ran a hand down the piano-key ribcage that the taut skin revealed. He turned to her.

"Good morning."

They were in one of the Malfoy family summer houses in Mauritius, and even though the day was still hovering in the dim grey and blue bruises of morning, the heat was already starting to seep in from under the door and around the cracks of the open window. Ginny used the back of her hand to wipe the first signs of sweat from her brow, sighing as she pulled the sheet down so that it was slung around her hips, leaving exposed her breasts and the muted lines of her stomach.

Draco smiled and reached out to her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists and pulling her across the bed, upsetting the under sheet as she moved towards him. Ginny laughed, bell-like, as he began to bite at her earlobe.

The past week had been just what she had needed. The scrutiny that the two of them had been subjected to since starting their relationship had been absolutely horrible.

Ginny hadn't expected their one night stand to really turn into much. While on tour for the Holyhead Harpies, she had been out in bar in the Czech Republic, and had noticed a familiar dome of hot blonde hair in her peripheral. Only wisps of words and actions remained with her from that night – how he had laughed and admired the bruise across her cheekbone from a hit that had happened in the game that day, how she had pulled on his hair when he was derogatory about her family and her friends, how she had taken him back to her hotel and how she had wrapped her legs around the slim cage of his hips as he had fucked her up against the door to the bathroom and then the window, and then sideways across the bed, and then the floor. When she had woken up on the carpet in the morning, Ginny had expected him to be gone. Rather, he was sprawled naked on his stomach next to her, and she had been wearing only one of his socks on her feet, and had donned his white button down shirt as a nightgown.

It progressed from there. At the moment, it was mostly sex, some arguments, and a few hot and silvered discussions about literature and sports and equality and violence. He was smart, yes. He could hold his own with her. They fought well, mostly verbally, sometimes physically. Draco had not balked at her right hook when she had gotten so angry during a night out in Singapore and had punched him in the eye. The bruising had remained for a week.

He fought her, too. He would wrestle her to the ground if she progressed to screaming in anger. He learned how to disarm her with a well-placed bite to the collarbone or to the buttock. He learned how to pin her quickly when he figured out that she could still knee him in the testicles when he was straddling her on the floor of his flat.

Mauritius had been his idea. Ginny had understood as soon as she had seen the moon reflected off of the coastal sea, the dip of the waves undulating the grey silver of the reflection. She had cried, and Draco had laughed at her, sacking her over his shoulder as one would a bag of potatoes, and had carried her into the cabin. She hadn't been out to see the sights of island since.

They had managed to keep their relationship fairly clandestine. Until recently.

"Have you looked at the papers yet?" Draco's voice was close to ear – she still had her eyes closed in an attempt to escape the blossoming heat. Ginny's heart sunk a little.

"Damn. No." She had forgotten that the pictures would be published today. Both Draco and Ginny had guessed that they were about to become fairly famous – or least infamous – in the span of a day when the fleet-footed photographer had caught a picture of them kissing in the doorway of a back-alley bar.

"You shouldn't have kissed me like that in public." She still had her eyes closed, was sniping, starting the day off on a bad, soured note, but she couldn't help it, was scared, was annoyed, was hot. Bloody hot. It was so hot here that everything seemed to hang in midair, mid-water, preserved in a gelatin-like stasis. Sex was terrifying at times because of the lack of oxygen. Showers were tepid at best. Food spoiled in a matter of minutes. Moods did, too.

Draco pinched her nipple.

"Don't be a bitch." His tone was genial, and opening her eyes, Ginny found him to be leaning over her on one elbow, smiling down at her. "We've been in the papers enough times."

"Singly!"

"Well, now it's doubly." He grinned even wider (why did she have such an urge to smack that smile off of his face so hard that it stuck to wall?) and leaned over to kiss her.

The bird interrupted.

The grey owl that flew through the window and perched on the pillows above their heads was disgruntled, to say the least. Ginny looked up at its yellow eyes from her upside down position.

"Grey owls always seemed so frightening to me." The bird dipped its head down to her as if it had heard her admission, and tilted its face to the side, as if inspecting her. She blanched but stared back, impulsively sticking out her tongue at it, blushing as Draco snickered at her and then staring inquisitively at him when he sobered quickly.

"What's wrong? And why is there an owl in Mauritius? I have a feeling the message it's carrying is somehow connected to the headlines from the English papers today, but how on _earth_ could this bird have gotten here so quickly?"

Draco held up a hand.

"Shut up for a second."

She looked at him, mouth open, ready to flail him.

"Seriously, Ginny. This is my father's owl."

---

Draco and Ginny were lying side by side, the covers kicked down to their feet, as they re-read the letter that Lucius had sent. Draco read out loud as the both of the punctuated the letter with peppered comments.

_Draco – _

_In terms of women, you could have done worse _– "He's rather blunt."– _but I am still fairly irritated that I had to learn of your affair with Ms. Weasley through the papers_. – "Shit. I probably should have told him." – _Regardless, if this affiliation between the two of you is going to continue_ – Ginny stifled a laugh at the archaic wording as Draco frowned at her and kept reading aloud – _then I firmly insist that the two of you come to dinner at the manor. Tonight. Tonight, Draco, or I will come and find you at the Mauritius villa, and I assure you, that will not be pleasant_ – "Pervert." – _in the least._

_If you are going to be consorting with someone in public, I __**will**__ be kept updated with your situation._

_Formal attire, eight o'clock. Do __**not**__ be late, or I shall whip you. _"Whip you?"

_Your father._

Ginny looked sideways at Draco as he folded the letter up. He was staring at the ceiling, exhaling loudly.

"Well, we have to go." He looked at her. She nodded, her face blank but resolute. That was certainly one thing that he appreciated about Ginny – she wasn't afraid of things. His father – maybe she was nervous, maybe she was remembering the past – but she wouldn't be afraid of it. Not now, not ever, not her.

"Let's go back to England, then, please. If it's formal, I have to pick out a dress for tonight."

Draco turned over and moaned, face-first, into his pillow. Turning his head towards her, he grimaced.

"Fucking old nosy bastard is ruining our vacation."

Ginny laughed.

"You shouldn't talk about your father that way."

---

Lucius sighed.

Tightening his fingers around his second glass of scotch of the day, he picked through his closet, examining his waistcoats. Perhaps he had been rash in sending out that owl so quickly, but finding out about his only son's dalliances through the bloody newspaper had made him so angry that the corners of his vision had started to blur red and black.

Life at the manor was soothing but desolate. He appreciated his isolated life. He enjoyed the ability to stroll aimlessly through the clattering, wide halls, undisturbed by companions or by guests or by family. When his familial house had had its heyday, it had been gleaming with people – filled to the rafters with champagne flutes and glittering faces and purposeless parties, nights spent by the fountains in the gardens, dances spent trying to get a glimpse down a dancing partner's dress, days spent writing reports and invitations and cheques and angry letters. Now, with the separation and impending divorce, he was mainly alone. The elves came and went quietly enough, and the guests had dwindled to a sere stream. The divorce saw to that – not that he was a pariah, but more that he was someone to be left alone now. To be left to his peace.

Thank god.

"Green, maybe."

He had started to talk to himself, just a little bit, if he felt like he had a decision to be made.

He sighed again.

"Or maybe bloody red to make her comfortable."

---

"Write back, please." Ginny pushed at Draco's hand.

"Fine."

---

To find out that his son had been dating someone through the brief and cool paper copy had stung him smartly – whipped a little heat into him – and he had written the letter and clipped it to Xerxes' leg before he had had time to clear his head.

Well, now he had the two of them coming over for damned dinner tonight. Thank god she was at least a pureblood. If she had been anything else –

An aquiline click and hoot distracted him, and as he exited the closet, he saw that Xerxes had returned. The note rendered was brief – terse – but resigned. Resolute, even.

_Father – _

_Thank you for the charming missive. Ginny and I will be there at eight thirty. Please put away the racks and pillories before we arrive. I don't want to scare her just yet._

_Do __**not**__ be offensive tonight. _

_She will fight back._

_Draco_

Lucius smiled faintly at his son's clipped tone.

"Cheeky."

Purposely pushing back his established time of eight. Very bold.

And Miss Weasley – he wondered if she had seen what Draco had written, or if she had been unaware. He certainly hoped that she would put up a fight. It was always so wonderful when they did.

Lucius stepped back into his closet and took another drink from the glass, enjoying the harsh swallow and the glow that began to rise again from his stomach. He wanted to be prejudiced in peace. He wanted to exist without annoyances. He wanted to get to know his son again. He wanted to meet Ginevra Weasley. He wanted to forget that he had slipped her the diary. He wanted her to remember that he had slipped her the diary. He wanted to be seen as a monster, as evil, as a human man, as regretful, as sober, as young again, as masterful once more.

"Black, then."

He pulled the waistcoat from the closet and stepped out into his chamber.


	3. Chapter 2

Ginny stood in front of the mirror, watching in the background as Draco flitted around the room, grabbing his button-down shirt, his trousers, his shined shoes. He was always tardy while she was always fifteen minutes early, and sometimes it grated on her nerves. She watched amusedly as he tied his tie, yanked his feet into his shoes, cursed at the laces, cursed at his cufflinks, cursed at his hair that was quite stubbornly refusing to lie flat.

"Just wet it, Draco. It's only a cowlick."

He glared at her in the mirror and huffed off to the bathroom, and she could hear the faucet running and some muffled expletives.

Ginny exhaled slowly, allowing herself to feel her nerves now that her frenzied partner had left her.

The dress she had picked was a dark green. She figured that if she were going to be walking directly into the lair of Lucius Malfoy, she was going to be dressed in something that could be constituted as armour. She didn't need to give any more reason to denigrate her or her family. Ginny felt curiously defiant about the dinner that was fast approaching. She didn't want to embarrass herself – she wanted to prove to the old bugger that she was different now – not a little freckled sprite anymore, not necessarily still so connected to the raucous Weasley gang. Setting her jaw, she slipped on her high heels and began to brush out her hair.

Draco emerged from the bathroom, looking pale but with his rebellious hair tamed.

"What time is it? You look nice, Gin."

She blinked.

"It's eight fifteen."

"Ah, fuck. We should probably head over then."

Ginny nodded at him, still talking to him through the mirror's reflection, and set her hairbrush down on the bureau. Turning, she grabbed at his collar and pulled him to her, kissing him hard. She felt him smile against her mouth and his hands traveled from where they had been set at his sides down to her hips. He pulled her into him. Mumbling against her lips, he spoke.

"If you start _that_, we'll be late, and my father will flay me. I've already irritated him enough by pushing our arrival time back to eight thirty."

"Yes, that was very brave of you, actually. Why did you do that?" Ginny's hands moved down to fumble with his tie.

"I don't know. I just didn't want him to think he was going to be the alpha male tonight."

She sighed.

"Well, we are going to be eating in his ancestral home. And he's the host. I'm pretty sure that will automatically make him the alpha male." Draco mimicked her sigh and tilted his head back.

"Yes, I know. Let's just go."

She held onto his arm as he Apparated.

---

The manor rose, blackly gleaming in the sunset, as Draco and Ginny stood on the front step. Ginny ran her hands over the front door, fingertips tracing the knocker, the handles, the stained glass windows. Her brain stuttered.

_a stately pleasure dome_

_decreed_

"This truly is a beautiful house, Draco."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I suppose, yes. Kind of forbidding though. And you didn't grow up here as a child. It's a hell of a lot different when you are five years old."

_caverns measureless to man_

_a savage place as holy and enchanted as ever a waning moon was haunted_

Ginny stared at him and wondered, suddenly, if he would knock or if he was simply going to walk right in. She didn't have to wait. The door opened and a house elf stood in the doorway.

_by woman _

_wailing_

"Hullo Balius." Draco looked down at the elf. "I can only assume that my father is waiting for us."

_for her demon lover._

The door of the manor clicked shut behind them as they followed the elf back into the labyrinthine bowels of the house.

---

Ginny stared, nearly gape-jawed, at the hallways that they were moving through. The entire place was done in dark wood – ebony, maybe, or mahogany – and had the most ancient and wonderful accoutrements – here, an antique umbrella stand, here, a hat rack with an old silk top hat hung on it, here, a stained glass window done with a motif of green spiders and lilies, here, a framed collection of French coins. She tried to keep walking without stumbling, her eyes trained on the ceilings and on the portraits and on the runner rugs.

_a stately pleasure_

_pleasure_

_dome_

She noticed an open doorway.

"Library!"

Draco stopped walking beside her and laughed.

"We have two libraries, Gin. Keep your knickers on. They're just books. You sound like Granger."

Ginny glared at him. That was one thing that she couldn't stand about Draco sometimes – she read books vociferously and he deigned not to, instead preferring the newspapers or the radio. It had led to a few arguments between them, he calling her stuffy and stuck up and she calling him boorish and uncultured.

She huffed and kept walking, but made mental note of the location so as to find it later.

---

She stared at the dining room doors.

Draco looked at her.

"Are you alright?"

"Are _you_?"

She suspected that he had never found out that it had been his father who had put in motion the ordeal that she had suffered at the hands of Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose, aware of Draco watching her silently, aware of the house elf observing her quizzically, and she realized that on the other side of the door stood the man who had probably changed the course of her life, who had nearly destroyed her, who had hated her family, whose only child she was involved with.

_beware_

_beware_

_flashing_ –

She opened her eyes.

_eyes_

"Let's go."

---

The dining room was even more exquisite than the rest of the house had been. The table could have sat sixty people easily, but at the moment was set with three places at the end closest to them. It did not escape Ginny, however, that the guest settings were put on either side of the place setting at the head of the table – that Lucius had sat himself between the two of them. She tilted her head and turned to inspect the rest of the room.

She started to turn.

"Miss Weasley."

_beware_

The voice came from the area of her left shoulder. Ginny closed her eyes for a moment and then, opening them, turned the rest of the way.

And there he was.

_beware_

Lucius Malfoy was standing near to her, hands held behind him at the small of his back, legs only slightly spread, black trousers, black waistcoat, black dinner jacket, and that hair – that _hair_ – pulled back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. Ginny noticed, of all things, the watch fob that ran along the side of waistcoat.

She looked at his face.

_and all should cry beware_

_beware_

_his_

Time had been unfairly kind to him. She noticed the hard slant of his cheekbones, the bow of his mouth, the slight raise of his eyebrows.

_flashing eyes his_

"Hello Mr. Malfoy."

_floating hair_

She saw, slowly, his lips lift, cupid's bow mouth, eyes – light and hard – narrow at the corners with a smallest smile, his mouth opening again, his hand reaching out –

_weave a circle round him thrice and_

"Welcome to the manor –"

_and_

"It has been … a while since we have last spoken –" Years, goddamned years, not since she was small, innocent, fragile… she drew in a breath, kept her eyes locked on her face, the fact that his hand was wrapped around hers, he was leaning over it to brush his lips against the back of it and still she remained impassive and proud.

_and_

"Let us dine, then."

_close your _

_eyes _

_with holy dread_.

---

Ginny had eschewed the offer of wine and had, instead, asked Lucius for an aged whisky without managing to betray how worried her nerves were. It had been harder than she had expected, seeing him again, seeing him after her ordeal as an eleven-year-old child. She had wanted, at first, to snatch her hand back from him and then to slap him, or, better yet, hit him with a folded fist.

She had resisted, and had felt Draco come up behind her, placing his large, warm hands on her shoulders. Reassuring. Or perhaps staking his claim on her. She hadn't been sure, but when she had noticed that Lucius was still lightly holding her hand, Ginny had pulled away delicately.

And now she was seated to his left, Draco across the table from her to his right, and Lucius was between them, at the head of the table.

Ginny took another swallow from her glass.

"I admit, Miss Weasley, that I am surprised that you enjoy whisky. Most women I know do not." Lucius' voice cut her thoughts, hot and questioning.

"I'm not typical."

Draco smiled at her and chewed his roll.

"Clearly. I'm curious – what do you think of the manor?"

Ginny wasn't sure what his tactic was, but Lucius didn't seem interested in Draco at the moment, and the line of questioning was being directed straight and steady at her. She inwardly shrugged, and then steeled herself. She could have a conversation with Lucius Malfoy. She was smart enough to do so and refused – _refused_ – to be scared of him anymore. She turned in her chair.

"It reminds me of Kubla Khan's palace. The stately pleasure dome."

Draco sighed.

"What on earth are you talking about, Gin?"

Lucius flicked a glance at him, and Ginny wondered if that was slight annoyance she could see in his eyes.

"Coleridge, Draco."

"Muggle?"

"Some say. Maybe. It has never been recorded if he was truly human or not."

Ginny had leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips thoughtfully. She spoke.

"He saw things in his dreams."

"Perhaps prophetic."

Lucius' words were not quiet but not loud, and Ginny found herself nodding to them, drumming her fingers on the tabletop as the bisque was brought out and placed before her.

"Perhaps. Perhaps just a result of addiction and outside influence." Lucius turned to look at her from where he had been concentrating on his soup spoon, and her head reeled because she just wasn't sure what they were talking about now and when they met eyes her head hurt, pounded. She fought the urge to wince.

"Clever girl."

He looked at her for a second more, tilting his head in that strange aquiline way he had, and then turned his attention to his food once more.

_beware_

Ginny finished her drink.

_beware_

Draco finished his soup.

_beware_

Lucius, sideways, looked at her.


	4. Chapter 3

--

She ran her hands across the spines.

"I had hoped to see this room before I left."

Lucius looked up from where he was reading over a few papers, standing behind his desk as he waited for his son to return from the floo in the next room. Ginny had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing – he looked almost innocent when he looked up through his eyebrows distractedly like that.

"Hm? Oh. Well, I suppose I am glad to have someone to show it to. My son –" Here Lucius thought for a moment. "My son doesn't read as much as I would desire. Truly, I am surprised that you are such a reader, Miss Weasley."

So there it was – perhaps. A subtle jab at her upbringing. She straightened her spine, arms akimbo, hands planted only lightly on her hips.

"Was that a slight on my family, Mr. Malfoy?" Her voice was measured but – _oh_ – she had to marvel at the pure flint that was present in it. She was surprised even at herself - how her hands didn't shake, how her tone stayed even.

He looked at her, a smile bucking around his mouth.

"Yes."

Ginny's eyebrows raised and then lowered into a scowl. How blatant of him.

"How rude. I would have expected someone of your upbringing to be more… polished Mr. Malfoy." She turned back to the books, her back squarely to him. She could hear a small intake of breath behind her.

Ginny knew precisely what she was doing – by turning her attention back to the books, she was letting Lucius know in no uncertain terms that he did not rank particularly high in her attentions. Rather, she was more enamoured of the literature that spanned in front of her for miles of spines… miles…

She hadn't heard him move. His hand came down on the spines of the books on the left side of her head, his left forearm beside her cheekbone.

"Cliché!" The words came out of Ginny's mouth before she could stop them. Mildly horrified, she thanked Poseidon she couldn't see Lucius' face. But it was terribly clichéd – to trap a young woman alone in a library by caging her in with arms against a bloody bookshelf.

"Hardly. I simply wanted to get a better look at the Weasley who just impugned my pedigree, my upbringing, and my conversation skills."

Ginny turned around, irked enough to be unfazed by the arm that was still running alongside her head.

"Oh, really? I thought, perhaps, that you got a good enough glance at me when you slipped me that diary. Back when I was eleven. You remember that, don't you?" Ginny ground her teeth, feeling molars spark against each other as she fought not to hit him, not to shove his arm out of the way, not to scream in his face.

Lucius made a bit of a humming sound and continued to look at her, and with his eyes darting around her face, Ginny felt less abashed and so also began a blatant perusal of him.

She noted now that he seemed to be fonder of tying his hair back with that severe black ribbon, and while perhaps this might have made lesser men appear older, Ginny appreciated the way it moved his skin taut over the blades of his cheekbones, the honed angles of his face catching the shadows, casting hollows into his cheeks. He exhaled softly through his nose and his nostrils flared, and she followed the bridleway of the bridge of his nose – the bird-like lines of his face – up to where his eyebrows were only slightly raised, raised as if he were not expecting the youngest Weasley to be still so close to him, appraising him so boldly.

"I'm simply not scared of _you_ anymore, Mr. Malfoy." Ginny spoke the words evenly, her eyes clicking down – clicking like marbles, beads, brown beads – to his Apollonian mouth when he answered:

"You should be."

---

By the time Draco had come back into the room, cursing about step-cousins and family businesses, Ginny was sitting languidly in the wingback chair by the fire, reading one of the Malfoy family histories.

Lucius was not in the room.

"Where's my father?"

"I'm not sure – he excused himself a few minutes ago."

_Fuck, he was so hard. He hadn't been like this in weeks – months. Or maybe even years. He had lost track of time since_

"Great. He's prowling the manor somewhere."

_since the separation or maybe before and he reached down to wrap his hand around himself, feeling the skin that scorched like fucking fire, so cliché, it was all so cliché_

"Be nice, Draco."

"You're a better man than me if you are so quick to coddle him."

"I'm not a man, you silly fool."

Soft laughter.

_but the tight grip of his hand felt alien and phenomenal and he braced himself with the other hand on the wall, the left hand on the wall, forearm straight and locked_

"He did terrible things."

"I know that. People don't change, I guess. You just have to … find the parts that you want to focus on. Within them. If they exist."

_and he could feel his entire body tensing, arcing, his neck arched back so far his adam's apple protruded sharply, could cut glass_

"Maybe my father still has redeemable parts."

"Well, he is most certainly still a twisted supremacist, but I'm not so scared of him anymore."

"You're not a scrawny little eleven-year-old in used robes anymore, that's why."

_and he was coming_

---

"Thank you for the lovely evening, Mr. Malfoy."

Ginny met his eyes placidly.

He held out his right hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure. Please feel free to return any time you might want to explore the library further."

"She'll probably take you up on that."

Lucius turned to his son.

"Manners, Draco." Gently chiding, not quite harsh.

Draco smiled crookedly.

"Goodnight father. Since you've behaved yourself –" Ginny continued to gaze at Lucius and noticed that the right hand corner of his mouth curled at Draco's words – "we will probably visit more often than not. Unless you relapse."

Lucius placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"I will always behave myself."

Ginny shuddered imperceptibly.

_beware_

She had never heard a bigger lie.

---

Lucius wrote irritably, his quill carving into the paper as he finished his business for the night. The dinner had put him off of his schedule and because of that, he was cross.

And that bloody fucking ball was coming up, too.

He was expected to go – it would be a major snub to the Ministry if he didn't show up. Maybe he could convince his son to join him.

And his son's date.

Lucius laid down his quill and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. What a brassy little bitch she had been.

At least she was a pureblood

Blood traitor, but still blood pure.

He had wanted to see if she would challenge him. He had wanted to see if she would bring up Riddle's diary. She had done both.

And his yob of a son – not knowing who Coleridge was.

Lucius sighed.

He hadn't expected her to be so damn smart. She had a whiplash tongue. And good god, she was no longer a little eleven-year-old girl anymore, was she? Those lush, tight curves.

Lucius closed his eyes. Ginevra Weasley was off-limits.

She was his son's, after all. And he did love his son – love him, fiercely, massively protective and feral about him.

But she – Ginevra – she had snapped at him in ways that no woman had – not since Narcissa, not since before everything – and he had liked it. Loved it.

Strange little thing.

Lucius cocked his head to the side and finished his letter.

---

"Oh, please Draco."

The writing desk rocked a little as he rolled his hips and Ginny felt him slide deeper inside of her. She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her.

He bent over her back and pressed her body down onto the surface of the desk, hands planted in front of her, beside her own. She stared into the crooks of where his forearms met his upper arms.

Draco gave a sharp jab with his hips and Ginny yelped.

"Please what, Gin?"

"Please – please –"

He smacked her lower back lightly.

"Please?"

"Please – fuck me."

Draco's hips started a wonderful cadence, then. Ginny felt her breasts slide across the naked wood of the desk surface as Draco stopped talking and tightened his grip on her hips, fucking her with a determined purpose.

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed happily.

_flashing eyes_

Grey eyes, sharp

_floating hair_

sharp angles, sharp skin, sharp eyes, all angles –

Draco thrust particularly deep and she grunted, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the desk harder.

_eyes_

Someone Apollonian – someone –

Draco grabbed at her hair and she closed her eyes again, and this time –

_beware_

God, this time it was not Draco who was grinding her chest down into the desk, not Draco whose long-fingered hands were branding her hips, whose breath was hot on the back of her neck, but a broader chest, bigger hands, wider mouth, long hair that brushed into the periphery of her vision – fuck – fuck – _fuck – _

_floating_

_hair_

With a strangled, gasping cry, Ginny Weasley came, fingers twisting and clawing at the desk, nipples hardened nearly painfully, her inner muscles clenching again and again and again, her thighs going into spasm, and she laid her forehead, pale and sticky, against the wood and exhaled.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

**--**


	5. Chapter 4

Ginny slid from the bed. Draco was asleep beside her, sprawled spider-like on his stomach, his arms reaching towards her even while he slept. She smiled and flexed her spine back and upwards as she stretched and then walked towards the bathroom. It was still murky outside – not quite the witching hours but not quite yet dawn. She hadn't slept – at all. They had ended up fucking furiously throughout the entire night – not a rarity for them anyways, but not something that had occurred recently. Draco hadn't thought to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask her why she had been initiating sex. Ginny wasn't quite sure herself.

As she began to turn the knob for the bathroom, a tap made her head jerk up.

_What_ –

She turned.

The grey owl was at the window.

_Fuck_.

Ginny recognized it immediately.

Lucius Malfoy's fucking owl.

She sprinted over to the window before she could stop herself – not hesitating, not wondering why she was unlatching the window and _lunging_ for the bird, grabbing the package that hung from its talons before absentmindedly ruffling its head feathers and latching the window behind it, watching it take off, a waved line in the dark purple sky until nothing.

The whole maneuver had taken under ten seconds.

She panted a little, placing a hand to the skin between her breasts, feeling under the palm the cudgeling of her heart, mellifluous. Looked down –

_What the hell did she have in her hand?_

She looked back up at Draco. He was nearly face down in the pillow, and his back was rising and falling in that sweet, heavy scoop of people deep in their sleep. He was not waking up any time soon. Ginny turned around once more to look out of the window, screwing her eyes up to try and see Xerxes, but the owl had long gone, and all she could see now were aubergine shreds of clouds melting into the dim sky.

_Was Lucius still up?_

She padded over the bathroom once more, this time slipping inside and latching the door behind her. Sitting naked, on the edge of the bathtub, she used the newfound light to examine what she held. It was rectangular, wrapped in a black leather square, bound by a ribbon with the Malfoy family crest on it. It had heft. In fact, it felt like –

It felt like –

_A notebook._

Ginny made a clicking sound in the back of her throat, tore the leather wrap off of the package, threw the crest across the bathroom, not caring if it made a dulled clinking sound in the corner of her shower and then it fell out into her hand, cool and heavy and it _was_, it _was _a fucking notebook and she threw her head back and laughed, or maybe sobbed – the sound was too terrible and too magnificent to categorize.

_That son of a bitch._

_That bastard._

_That fucking son of a bitch_.

She didn't even bother to look at it as she opened her counter drawer and yanked out all of the hair products and the brushes and combs and containers of blush and old tubes of lipstick and she hurled them all on the floor, not caring if she waked Draco, not caring if he heard and she shoved the blasted book back in there and then kicked the drawer shut, watching it bang once and then close all the way.

A note had fallen out on the floor.

_Miss Weasley – _

_I do believe I owe you a notebook._

Ginny hissed, grabbing the matches that she kept on the bathroom counter – used for candles, for sweet bubble baths – and watched as the note burned in front of her eyes, that hard, slanted male writing curling and writhing, looking pitiful, until there was nothing but a tiny dusting of grey ash left.

She stood.

Walking out of the bathroom, she leaned against the doorframe for a second, her hand braced above her head, as she watched Draco. He had turned in his sleep – perhaps reacting to her sounds from the bathroom, perhaps not – and was facing her, one arm flopped over the side of the bed, the fingers dangling sweetly.

She extinguished the light behind her and walked around the bed, crawling in beside him – but not fitting herself to his back. Rather, she lay facing away from him, looking at the drawn window, trying to understand what had just happened, her eyes darting and her fingers curled as she thought, thought, _thought_ –

Ginny placed the heels of her hands over her eyes and then she started to laugh.

In the morning, Draco would ask why the bathroom floor was so cluttered. He wouldn't notice the stray ashes that were clinging to the tiled floor.

---

"_No_!"

Draco nearly stumbled over the ottoman as she shouted her decision at him.

"What do you mean '_no'_, Gin?"

Ginny ran her hands over her face again and again.

"I mean **no** – I don't want to go to that Ministry ball."

Draco scowled.

"Well, my father is essentially obligated to go – he can't turn down _another_ invitation. And we've been invited as his guests."

"I don't care!"

Ginny ripped off the pants she had been wearing and threw them, point blank range, into the hamper as she got undressed for bed.

He moved across the room before she could even take another breath to rant afresh – he was so like his father in that way.

Draco grabbed her wrists.

"Ginny! Be reasonable."

His fingers loosened.

"My father…"

She looked up at his face from where she had been staring at their hands.

"My father – my father is nearly reviled in some circles. He absolutely deserves it, and he doesn't mind it, but I hate it. He warrants better treatment than that – " Here Ginny started to draw breath to speak but Draco noticed and spoke faster to cover her voice up – "- Somewhat better treatment than that. I just – I just want him to start to reintegrate into the public again. This ball would be just right for that."

He let go of her wrists.

_You fool – you fool! Grab me harder, hold me longer –_

Ginny sighed.

"You are guilting me into feeling pity for Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy."

Even as she said it, she had a small smile stitched to her lips.

Draco kissed her briefly.

"Pick a damn dress."

She widened her eyes. He finished:

" – Please."

---

_Damn this bloody, bloody thing._

He hated wearing such tight, embroidered waistcoats as this.

_Damn this bloody, bloody ball. Celebrating the first word of the Minister of Magic's child or some tripe like that._

Who the hell was he going to dance with tonight?

_Damn and damn._

Lucius pushed through the throng of women. Despite being that social pariah, he found that women were still easily attracted to him – while perhaps no longer a candidate for marriage, he was certainly a candidate for a good fuck, it seemed. The fact that he refused to be seen very often in public and that he chose not to go out so often made him somewhat more attractive. He was a curiosity – something to be collected.

He sighed.

"Pardon me, ladies."

As he slid through the group of them, he could hear the muffled tittering and whispers.

_Lucius_

_Remember me?_

_Lucius_

_Remember how the room around the corner from here is always unlocked?_

_Lucius_

_Lucius_

Their voices trailed off into hisses as he walked away.

She was leaning against a pillar, her upper back touching the marble behind her, her body creating a 45-degree angle with the floor. Her hips were jutted out, her arms partially crossed. She looked every bit the petulant child, standing aside while the adults enjoyed themselves. Well, he noted, perhaps not a child. She was, after all, holding a wine glass, and the way she crossed her arms made her breasts lift to an exquisite level, pushed out as though shelved.

"Miss Weasley. Are you enjoying your grand evening out?"

"Bugger off."

The words came out of her mouth without thinking.

Lucius' eyebrows shot up and Ginny cringed. She had been lost in her thoughts and wanted to be deep in her cups, but that familiar voice had interrupted her and she had reacted without a second damn breath.

Ginny looked at him, half hidden behind her wine glass.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so sick of this damned thing. Draco's associates and friends are, quite frankly, absolutely disgusting. And there are far too many old, lecherous men around. I can't even get a bloody glass of wine without someone lunging for my bum."

She looked at his face and nearly laughed at the almost-expression.

"Sorry. You're not a lecherous old man. At least … you aren't acting like one tonight."

Lucius smiled.

"Yes, not tonight. Lechery and watch fobs are never a good match, I find. Has my hooligan of a son abandoned you?" Lucius looked down at her as she swilled from her glass and looked around the room. She looked utterly bored and it was delicious. Ginny had squeezed those lithe curves into a gold dress tonight – cut tight and low in the front, boned along the sides like a corset to her hips and then slinking down, down, nearly obscuring her feet. Lucius could see the outlines of her pelvic bones – of the muscles of her thighs and the ridges of her breasts, riding high above the sweet cupping of the material of the dress. If he just reached out and tugged –

"Yes. I don't know who he's talking to now. I don't care really. I'd rather this be over. My feet are hurting." She reached down to lift the hem of her dress carelessly and Lucius saw the shoes – the spike heels, the pale arch of her foot, the strong bones of her ankles. "Bloody things. Bloody dress." She tugged at the bodice, trying to pull it to cover more of her breasts.

"Stop that." His voice was clear and strong.

She stopped.

"What?"

"You look ravishing. Quit fooling about with the material. You'll worry it and then it will be wrinkled." Lucius looked at her from the corners of his eyes as he stood beside her, surveying the dance floor.

"Sorry, _father_."

Ginny said it to be purely impertinent. It was a directed jab at his age and she had thought that it would be insulting more than anything.

Instead, she saw him swallow, the side crux of his lips curling up in a sort of smile. Ginny thought that maybe she could the increase of his pulse, cloistered as it was between the muscled cords of his neck. Lucius shift slightly on his feet and –

"That turned you on!" She was blunt – no use tiptoeing around it. Her voice was accusatory but not vehement and Lucius laughed. He couldn't help himself.

As he laughed he turned to face her.

"Miss Weasley – "

"You _are_ a lecherous old man."

"You shouldn't be rude to your elders. Or your betters." Ginny started to sputter but he slid the glass from her hand. "Don't be pert. Come dance with me. At least I can hope to entertain you while my son gallivants about."

He had a firm grip on her hand and Ginny followed him mutely to the floor. Righting her, he pulled her close to his body and instead of creating the dance frame by putting his hand near her shoulder blade, he slid his palm down her back until it settled just above her buttocks. Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"That is _hardly_ appropriate."

He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"Shut up, Miss Weasley."

She jerked in surprise, her eyes rounded, and he could see her tongue curling behind her top teeth, ready for a retort.

He twisted the fingers of their remaining two hands together and began a foxtrot.

She silenced. Ginny let him lead her for a few peaceful moments, concentrating on the fantastic warmth of his palm. His smallest finger was almost touching the top curve of her buttock.

She spoke, breaking the fragile, wispy détente.

"Thank you – _by the way_ – for the new notebook. It's _delightful_." Her voice was so vehement it shocked even her.

Lucius tightened his hold on her waist as if he thought she would try to run.

"I did owe you a new one. Have you used it yet?"

"As kindling."

"That's no way to treat a gift from a kind stranger."

"From a cruel figure from my past." Her reply was so quick it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Lucius pulled her just a little closer, and she stiffened, as if trying to stop him, but then the tops of his thighs were brushing her hips and she yielded, if only for the moment, shocked by the feeling of skin near skin.

"I am cruel …" He sounded thoughtful. "I am cruel, and I am the spectre from your young past. But I am not all of those things. I am not _only_ those things." Ginny looked up into his face and saw him look thoughtful and grave.

She sighed.

"I don't know about you. I certainly don't trust you."

He looked at her.

"Not even now?" He tightened his hands, nearly hurting her, nearly twisting her slender white fingers.

She looked unmoved.

"Especially not now."

"Smart girl."

"I am not a girl anymore. I'm pretty sure you've noticed that." And here Ginny cast a scrutinizing look upon him. "Please. I don't want to talk anymore. You're going to end up upsetting me – and for Draco's sake, I'd prefer if we kept it civil."

Lucus sighed in return and molded his fingers harder to her lower back, pressing his palm flush against the fabric of her dress, and he felt the threads burn into him. Lucius looked straight over top of her head – his eyes fierce – as the crowd watched the two of them curiously, into the faces of the women who adored him, into the face of his son.


	6. Chapter 5

It was three weeks before Lucius and Ginny saw each other again.

She had been tetchy. She knew that. She had been a real bitch lately and Draco had weathered it stoically, bravely, giving her enough space when she got so bad that she wanted to scream.

The fights were bad. The make-up sex was better.

The invitation had come courtesy of Xerxes. Ginny had absentmindedly ran her fingers through the bird's ear feathers as she read the letter she held in her hand.

"What is it?"

Draco was settled in an armchair, his reading glasses pushed down on his nose, the paper folded in his lap. He looked older than his years. Ginny smiled at him, lightly tugging on Xerxes' ear tufts.

"You look lovely." Draco smiled back at her. "Your father wants us to come for dinner and drinks tonight. Are you up for it?" He closed the paper and stood languidly.

"Sure. Formal?"

"I think so. He didn't specify but if I remember his poncy waistcoats correctly–"

"Which you do –"

"Right. So formal, I think."

Draco bit lightly at her neck.

"Wear the red tonight, Gin. Please." She sighed. "_Please_!"

"Draco, I don't want to bait your father with any inflammatory colours…"

"Oh, he won't care. Please. Please!"

She laughed, tugging at his hair, and acquiesced.

"Fine, you."

---

Ginny stretched out, the hot water sloshing a little over the side of the tub as she moved. Draco was humming tunelessly on the other side of the bathroom door, picking out ties, or maybe reading again, or maybe just aimlessly walking.

She batted a tendril of hair out of her eyes and sank into the water up to her neck before starting to scrub at her legs, spreading the soap in swirled bubbles.

"Gin!"

His voice rang through the door.

"Yes?"

"Where is the purple cravat?"

She thought for a second.

"Check my jewellery box."

She heard him walk off.

Ginny slid her right hand underneath the surface of the water and lifted her right leg out, resting it on the side of the bath. She found her clitoris quickly, sliding her fingertips over it again and again. Using her left hand, she teased at both of her nipples.

She heard Draco move back to the bedroom.

"Where is the iron?"

Ginny moved her fingers faster.

"The – the … my desk."

"Okay."

He moved away again and she breathed heavily, spreading her legs farther and tilting her head back.

_Oh god_ –

As if the fingers touching her were rougher and larger, slipping inside of her and

"Jacket?"

"_Closet_!"

teasing her relentlessly, bringing those fingers up to a smiling mouth, square chin and jaw, sharp angled face coming into focus, blond –

Ginny came silently, her mouth opening and closing, her right leg jerking mercilessly.

---

"How lovely you look."

Ginny slipped her cloak off of her shoulders and handed it Lucius.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled briefly at him and then turned to Draco, slowly adjusting the silky purple cravat tied at his throat, letting her fingers brush over his adam's apple.

Draco grabbed her hand and kissed the palm.

Lucius cleared his throat.

"Draco."

"Evening, father. What's for supper tonight?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Trout." The answer was short.

"Wonderful."

Ginny turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She _did _look lovely. The red dress that Draco had so lovingly extolled was a wonderful satin confection, a deep crimson bordering on burgundy, and it sat _very_ well on her. She shifted her hips a little as if to look at her bottom in the mirror but caught herself in time. When she looked up, she noticed Lucius looking at her through the reflection. Ginny turned from the mirror to face him.

"I wore my house colours."

She wasn't sure if she was baiting him or not.

"I had noticed, Miss Weasley."

He wasn't sure if she was baiting him or not.

Lucius nodded once, and Ginny noticed that he seemed terse. She quickly told herself that it was not because he had watched her stroking Draco's throat as she had adjusted his necktie.

---

Ginny sullenly twirled her spoon in her chocolate mousse. Dinner had been, obviously, fantastic, but she was feeling warm and itchy and was bored of the dinner conversation. She wanted to kick off her shoes and drink whisky on a couch, not swan about in a chilly old dining room. She felt like she was eight years old again. She felt whiny and immature but she was raring for an argument.

"Ginny, are you going to just play with your food?" She looked up and Draco was smiling at her.

"Maybe." She dipped a finger in it and then quickly licked the dessert off, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, for God's sake." Apparently Lucius was in a tetchy mood too, because the words flew from his mouth before he could stop them. Ginny and Draco both looked at him. He shifted in his seat and then furrowed his brow. "Where are your manners, Miss Weasley?"

Her brow furrowed to match his, and Lucius realized, belatedly, that she seemed to be angling for an argument, as if she had been waiting, hoping to provoke him.

"Was your upbringing truly so hideous that you have to revert to using your _fingers_ as utensils?"

Draco turned pale and closed his eyes as Ginny's back straightened. She flushed, and glared at Lucius.

"You sanctimonious old prig!" Lucius' mouth fell open. Draco groaned. _How quickly this was all degenerating. _"You have no right to talk about upbringing!"

"Ginny!" Draco looked affronted, but then switched to mollifying. "Just take a deep breath. Let's not ruin the evening." He shot a look at Lucius. "You too, father. You two are more similar than you might care to admit, and I guarantee that'll result in a fight if measures aren't taken."

Ginny ignored him and glared at Lucius, raising her finger to shake it in his face.

"You leave my bloody family alone."

He grabbed her finger.

"Don't you dare point at me in my own home."

"Then why don't you try being a more gracious host!"

"Gracious company deserves gracious hosting. You, my dear, are not gracious."

Ginny's brow furrowed further and she clicked her teeth in frustration.

"Oh _ho_ – Lucius Malfoy, paragon! Picture of graciousness, even when he is bespoiling young children –" her eyes flashed and he knew immediately what she meant, even if his son was still unaware "– the perfect _fucking_ picture of courteousness!" Ginny threw her napkin on the table and stood so fast she nearly knocked her chair over. "Excuse me for this terribly trite outbreak, but I have had _enough_ for tonight." She strode out of the room.

Lucius exhaled and raised his eyebrows.

"Father! Look what you've done." Draco was furious, standing to his feet with his hands planted on the dining room table.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Draco. It's not just one person who starts an argument, you know. That girl had something to do with it too." He leaned back in his chair, staring at his son, his hands clasped loosely across his stomach.

"You couldn't just behave yourself, could you? _Could_ you?" Draco shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. "You were perfectly fine the other night. Was that just to lure us into your life?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Draco opened his eyes.

"Where did she _go_?"

"Somewhere, by the looks of it, in the vicinity of the library. Or my study. And you'd better pray she didn't go in there because then I will be forced to hide her."

Draco blanched.

"Don't _even_ joke about things like that!" He stood completely. "I have to go find her. _Don't_ bother following."

---

_Damn._

Draco had been gone twenty minutes now, and Lucius had a feeling he wasn't coming back. She had truly made him frustrated, but he was regretting baiting her now and wanted to seek her out to see if she would consider a truce. He did like having company at the Manor, and he did like seeing his son more often.

He sighed and got up, starting in the direction of his library.

When he didn't find them there, he tersely made his way to the study.

---

Lucius opened the door to his study and, despite years of learning how to school his expressions and reactions, skills that were reminding remnants of his violent past, his jaw nearly dropped as he surveyed what was in front of him.

Ginny Weasley was spread out on his desk, her head resting on the edge closest to the doorway, her hips pulled down to the edge where he rested his elbows while he wrote – while he_ wrote_ – her body like a metronome, sliding hotly across the desk with every frenzied drive. Lucius looked down at the floor around the scene and noticed his writing papers and his ink pot scattered haphazardly. Goddamn. Continuing his appraisal, he noticed the high heeled shoe that was lying, dead on its side, under his armchair by the fire, and the pair of female underpants that was hanging – _hanging!_ – off of his desk lamp. Ginny's dress was partially pulled down, exposing one white breast while so cruelly keeping the other cupped and hidden. The skirt of her dress, however, was bunched up around her hips, and settled between her legs was his son. Draco had his arms clamped around the outsides of her pale thighs, and Lucius could see how his son's knuckles were white and pink. He was holding on hard. She would probably be bruised come morning.

Her hair was hanging down, unbound, and the red curtain was swaying, rippling thickly with every thrust. Lucius tilted his head to the side on a miniscule angle and stared into the rolling sheen of that hair, noticing the subtle variations of red that were gleaming across it as a result of the movement of both of their bodies. Such lovely hair, really. Long. It was not quite brushing the floor of his study, but it was close.

He watched her move, watched the way his son was gripping at her, driving into her, and for a ridiculous, quick moment he pictured Ginny beneath himself, spread out on the desk like that, his son gone from the picture and not missed. What it would be like then, then, if he was fucking her? He would wrap a hand around that slender throat, would be sure to pull her dress down all the way to her waist to expose both breasts, watch them as they moved with his pace, place her ankles on his shoulders, bend her body down into itself, go deeper, go harder.

Lucius shook his head.

His appraisal had been only a few seconds at most. Due to their furious rutting, they had not heard him open the door. He clicked his throat and spoke.

"There are locks on doors for a reason."

The effect was magnificent, to say the least.

Draco's head snapped up and the expressions on his face shuffled quickly from embarrassment to amusement to anger to resignation and then a sort of defiance. Lucius wasn't sure if his son was going to finish or continue his crazed fucking, and he wasn't sure which option he wanted to occur –

Before he could ruminate any further, the choice was made for Draco.

Ginny, upon looking, upside-down, at the figure in the doorway, opened her mouth, as if to berate or maybe scream, or maybe tell Draco to stop.

Rather, she came.

Both Lucius and Draco stared at the young woman in mild shock as Ginny's back slid up into a sweet, sharp arc, her hands flying down to claw at the smooth wood of the desk beneath her body, the mouth widening as she began to trumpet her release in the most animalistic sounds that either of them had ever heard. Her voice started out low and growling and escalated into a near-cry as she brayed and as her body bucked. Draco had to snap his hands down onto her hips to keep her from thrashing off of the desk and possibly hurting herself as she came in rolling furrows of heat and pleasure.

She kept her eyes on Lucius the entire time.

For his part, Draco came quietly, holding his face blank and unmoving as his hips stuttered jerkily. He fell to his elbows overtop of Ginny and both faces turned to look at the man leaning in the doorjamb. Draco had the grace to look partially mortified and yet also defiant. Ginny, however, wasn't looking directly at Lucius anymore and was instead gazing somewhere around the area of his knees, her cheeks flushed and her mouth open as she grabbed heavy breaths, her chest rounding and flattening erratically. She looked surprised. Embarrassed, maybe.

"Hello, father." Draco bit back a smile.

"Libertines." Lucius raised both eyebrows, arms crossed over his chest, as he continued to stare.

Draco laughed out loud.

"You've probably already done this on your desk. You've probably done worse!" Lucius didn't deign to answer – he had had sex on his desk before and he had done worse, many times over, far before Draco was around. Instead, he chose to cluck his tongue at them, smirking slightly, as he unfolded his arms and turned to leave.

As he walked away, purposely leaving the door open, he looked back over his shoulder, meeting Ginny's eyes.

"I hope, Miss Weasley, that you are feeling… better. Please do clean up after yourselves."

Her eyes shut tightly and she pulled her skirt down from where it was perched up on her hips.


	7. Chapter 6

-

She never did receive an apology from him, but three days later while Draco was at work and she was at her flat doing some paperwork for the team, Xerxes delivered a tiger lily into her upturned palms and flew out again without waiting for a reply.

She sat now at her kitchen table, the tiger lily in a glass of water, and she staring at it.

_It was probably bad to accept a flower from your lover's father._

Ginny sighed and clicked her fingers on the table top.

She was, she was, she was, she bloody was.

_Oh god, I am – _

Attracted to Lucius.

She laid her head down on the table, savouring the cool, clean feel of the linoleum on her clammy skin.

She couldn't deny it any longer. She was attracted to Lucius.

_But – _

But that was surely alright, wasn't it? He was, after all, an attractive man. He knew it – the female commonwealth knew it. Draco even seemed to know it.

_So_ –

So then she could openly admit to herself that, _yes_, Lucius Malfoy was a handsome man – _beautiful, stunning_ – and that it wasn't unnatural to feel a physical attraction for him.

_Physical_.

She kept her head on the table but turned her eyes upward to stare at the flower. It was gorgeous – a rich, bloody cream of an orange, with tawny speckles, the stem healthy and robust. She could smell its faint aroma already, saw the curlicued tips of the large petals.

_Wealth and pride._

Of course he would like them, with a meaning like that.

_Hatred and disdain._

Alternatively.

Both.

Ginny laid her head back down on the table and closed her eyes again, trying not to breathe too deeply and smell the scent.

She loved tiger lilies.

They were her favourite flowers.

---

When she hadn't responded to Lucius after three days, Xerxes returned.

This time it was a black leather bookmark that fell into her hands. Ginny peered up at the circling bird, pushing open the window that had swung shut behind him in order for him to leave her flat.

Looking down, she noticed the motif on the bookmark – snakes, of course, but with an embossed likeness of Apollo in the background. The leather was smooth and tooled and when she lifted it to her face and inhaled, she could taste the richness of it.

She opened her desk drawer and put it behind her quill box.

---

Three days later, Ginny was sitting in her bed, trying to read. It was early – just before sunrise in any case – and she was bouncing a knee up and down on her bedclothes.

_I am not waiting – _

She tried to tell herself that she was not waiting for the grey owl.

_I am not waiting._

The day came and went.

---

On the fourth day, she was making a cherry pie in the kitchen, methodically rolling out the dough onto the floured counter top, her rolling pin dusty and well-worn – a relic from her mother's kitchen. She took a swig from the glass of sherry nearby and concentrated on fitting her crust into the pie plate. Precise movements – her slender fingertips wound around the circular edge of the pan, fluting and pinching the dough down, tamping it. And then the cherries – the bowl of lovely pitted cherries, oozing their juice. Ginny stuck a finger in and swirled it around, pulling it out and licking it.

"Oh!"

The tap at the window was abrupt.

She dropped the rolling pin she had been moving and a cloud of flour puffed up around her elbows.

It was a geode this time – she traced the flinty grey exterior and then turned the rock in her palm to expose the crystalline innards. Red. Of course the bastard would throw her off by making her wait an extra day.

She smiled.

---

Walking to the bathroom, Ginny opened the drawer on the left-hand side of her sink, and reached in up to her elbow. She rummaged around for a bit until she felt the heavy flatness of what she was seeking

_This is a bad idea_

and pulled the notebook out.

_It doesn't count because it's __**not**__ a diary. It's a notebook, and I am using it to write a note._

She held the book in her hands, turning it over and over, sitting on the tiled floor of her bathroom until she finally opened it. Lovely, thick, cream-coloured paper. A ribboned bookmark. Faint lines for writing on. The smell of leather and library. Ginny pulled the quill from her hair, and as the curls fell around her shoulders, she wrote two words.

_Apology accepted._

When she walked back out into the living room, she wasn't shocked to see his owl still waiting for her, and she sent the note off.

---

Lying back on her bed, Ginny moved her hands down her neck to her breasts, cupping long, sweet fingers around them, feeling their weight in her hands. She pulled at her nipples and then slid her palms down the centre of her stomach, flying over soft flesh, until she was between her legs and sliding her fingertips into herself, pushing at her clitoris over and over again until she was coming so hard that her teeth her clenched and jarring with the shaking of her body, one hand up above her tightly grabbing the headboard, her heels crawling along the bedclothes.

---

He replied the next day. She grabbed the letter and sat down on her ottoman as she opened it.

_I never said I was sorry._

Walking over to her desk, she grabbed a quill and scrawled a reply along the bottom.

_Sanctimonious old prig._

The reply was exactly seventeen hours later.

_I am not old._

She had laughed out loud at that but hadn't replied. It seemed as though the tension had eased. There was still the matter, though –

_That you'd fuck him. That you'd fuck him in an instant._

Anyone would. Anyone would a heartbeat and a pulse between their legs would. It was not a negotiable situation. But she had a lover – a good lover, even a great lover – and she didn't need another, and so she would maybe just admire him from afar.

---

She was dreaming, now; more than she ever had before. Her dreams were lucid and lurid and all wet colour and scents and sounds. They were cornucopias of people and places and touch.

She had discovered, quite wonderfully, that she was capable of having an orgasm in her sleep. Draco had been happy to discover this, too, since he thought that it was he that she was dreaming about. And perhaps it was, because even though her dreams were at times blurry, she could still make out that light hair, so maybe it was.

But maybe not, because in her dreams she was bent over desks or footboards, and the man behind her – fucking her _hard_ – had a foot on her head and was pulling her arms back so tightly that she was afraid her shoulders would be separated. And Draco had never done that and didn't see prone to do that, so she didn't understand why she could wake herself up, coming relentlessly to the image of her own body, held in stasis by strong arms, thrashing and yelping.

Or she would dream about the sun, and the heat, and the light, lying on her back naked on a beach – or maybe a field, or maybe just the plain ground – her knees bent and her arms stretched out over her head, face tilted into the rays.

She sometimes dreamt about swans and cicadas and once in a while a raven, too. She dreamt that she was on her belly on the ground in a clearing and that someone was taking her from behind, his chest pressed into her back, his big hands on either side of her face, caging her in. Those were the dreams where she came the most and the hardest.

Ginny never knew if she spoke out loud in her sleep.

---

"What are you doing, Gin?"

_Reading Catallus, brain buzzing in her head like flies_

"Just thinking."

_Watching thunderstorms, feeling a headache break into a thousand tiny pieces, being reminded of what real power was_

"You seem to be doing a lot of that lately."

A laugh.

"Can't help it."

_Thinking of deer, of wolves, of never-stopping music_

A pause.

_Of being fucked into a mattress, of being kindred in that dark side, that thing that sidle, unctuous, within_

"Okay."

_Of knowing._

_Just knowing._

---

They grew distant.

Draco was working more and she was fielding a part-time job as a sports correspondent for the newspaper, and they only saw each other at night and even then, one of them was often asleep, face down on the bed, before the other even got home.

They fought a little more. There was a little less make up sex.

But still it was good, or at least not bad. They still laughed.

And then they laughed a little less.

Ginny thought it over – that maybe they had just run their course, or maybe they were just in a dip, or maybe it was just a patch, or maybe they were both just really tired. She was tired all the time now – her dreams were exhausting her, causing her to fidget in her sleep, to lash out and to curl her legs and unfurl them rapidly, and this made her tired in the mornings. Not even the strongest coffee could help her. She found herself nodding to sleep at inopportune moments – a talk with her mother, a kiss from Draco, in the middle of writing an article. She was a little quieter, with darker purple circles under her eyes. She wrote in her notebook. She ate less but noticed more, spoke softer but wrote conspicuously.

Two weeks later, Draco left her.

---


	8. Chapter 7

She sighed as she sat on the floor of her apartment, sorting through the various items that Draco had left in her flat. An old jersey, a bottle of whisky, two pairs of underwear, one sock. She had folded the clothes and laid them in a small box, but had decided to keep the whisky.

Sitting in her armchair, she stared at the ceiling.

_Shit._

She was upset. She was upset but not hysterical because Ginny had thought, secretly, from the beginning that her and Draco were not destined to be together forever. It was a sort of fling – at least for her. How could she spend her life with a man who didn't read books? He had left her because he said she was getting "frigid and distant" and she was sure that he had already found someone new to warm his bed. That thought didn't bother her, really. It had often been just about the sex. What bothered her was how abrupt it was – no closure, no nothing, just a frayed end of a rope, hanging. And now she just wanted to get the process over and done with, and that meant giving back his stuff and

_Shit_

Getting hers back from him, too. Ginny swore out loud.

"Fuck. Oh fuck." She had given Draco a few of her favourite books.

_Don't want to but I have to do this now, I have to do this __**now**_ –

Ginny flooed him. He had been home, and Draco had curtly informed her that they were "at the Manor" and had disappeared from the green flames before she had time to respond.

_Bugger and bugger._

She just wanted to get the whole damn process _over with_, just over and done with. Blinking back a few unexpected tears, Ginny made her decision.

---

She banged on the door of the Manor.

_What a terrible idea._

She wasn't even sure if anyone was home – but maybe an elf could let her in and she could look for her books without anyone ever knowing that she had been there –

"Miss Weasley."

Ginny jumped.

"Oh. I hadn't heard the door open." Lucius was in the doorway, his head slightly tilted to one side as he scrutinized her. "Why are _you_ opening your own front door?" His mouth turned up slightly.

"You arebelligerent, aren't you? What do you want, you pert thing?"

Ginny tried to smile but found she couldn't, and when she spoke her tongue felt cottony and dead.

"Draco –" her voice tilted slightly and she tried again. "Draco took some of my books – I loaned them to him and apparently he's moved them… here. So – so some of my favourite works are somewhere in your house – possibly in your library – and I would like…" She looked down at her feet for a second as if to blink back tears again but that this time she didn't have to. "I would like to look for them. Please."

And then he was holding her hand all of a sudden and Ginny closed her eyes against the feeling of it, of his thumb moving slowly over the pearly skin of her inner wrist, feeling her pulse.

"Yes, yes. I'll be in my study but you can have free reign of the library for as long as you like." He looked almost sympathetic, opened his mouth as if deciding to say something else but jolted himself and stopped, gently releasing her hand and opening the door wider for her.

She stepped inside.

---

She hadn't found them. She hadn't found the bloody, fucking books. Draco had moved them or taken them or done something with them and now she couldn't find them. She tilted her head back. It had been a half hour of searching so far and her vision was starting to black out around the corners from her rage.

She turned on her heel and jerked open the library door, making her way to find one Lucius Malfoy and inform him of his son's misdemeanours.

---

Ginny paraded into Lucius' study like a bullfighter, snapping her arms as though she were rolling a red flag. When she pushed the door open, his head jerked up and he stared at her. She looked like the Morrigan, her hair moving lushly as she tossed her head, impatient and breathing like a rode horse, her fingernails catching the light as she moved her arms in angry, wonderful movements.

"That son of a bitch!"

His eyebrows shot up and he put down his quill and paper.

"Can I help you, Miss Weasley?"

She walked right up to his desk, pressing her thighs against the front edge of it, as she bent over. Lucius looked down at her knuckles as she planted her hands near the edge of the desk closest to him, and she leaned down so that her face was near to his.

He was rather taken aback.

Ginny snorted.

"I cannot _find them_."

Lucius noticed her pupils – dilated and flickering – and her nostrils – flared with her anger – and the way her freckles spanned her nose, spreading out like a blush or a map. He stared back at her.

"You're this angered over a few books?"

She stiffened.

"They were my favourites! He had my Coleridge and my Conrad and my Murdoch and worst of all – _worst of all_ – he had my Euripides!"

Lucius furrowed his brow.

"Were they worth anything?"

"No! Not really. Not monetary. But they were mine – they were mine – and they had all my goddamned notes and my dog-ears. They had my markings on them. They weren't his to move around. They were mine! He never read them, anyway. He never read any goddamned books."

Watching her anger bloom was fantastic, but Lucius had the thought that while her books did mean such a great deal to her, perhaps the anger was being channeled from a different place within.

"I realize, Miss Weasley, that you are the wronged woman in this whole –" and here he contemplated what word to use – "whole mess. However, I really think –"

What little control she had on her emotions was snapped brittlely in that one moment – the past months of trying to school her reactions around both father and son and the typhoon was unleashed.

Ginny growled and lunged.

"Wronged woman! Dear god, what _fucking_ century do you live in, Lucius?" His back straightened, poker-like and rigid, when he heard her use his given name, and it was almost enough to distract him from the absolutely inappropriate tone she was using with him. "I am so sick of your _goddamned_ family and their _goddamned_ attitudes." She straightened up. "And here you are, sitting behind this damned desk, using it as a shield! Are you a coward? A bloody coward? Are _you_ afraid of _me_?" She moved to the side of the desk, kicking it sharply, and continued her verbal barrage from a closer vantage point, moving nearer to him as she railed. "For god's sake! For god's sake! You can't even stand up to talk to me!" She was directly beside him now, placing her foot on his chair and pushing him roughly away from the desk. The abrupt movement shook Lucius back to life. He narrowed his eyes and his jaw set sharply - dangerously. Ginny moved to stand wedged between him and the desk, leaning over again, placing her hands directly on the arms of his desk chair. "It's as if you Malfoy gentlemen just need to _man._ _up_." Her voice was vitriolic and hissing and staccato, and Lucius had quite simply had enough.

She opened her mouth to speak again.

He moved far too fast for her to even realize what was happening.

Lucius reached out and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling at the sensitive skin and the fine baby-like hairs there as he curled his fingers farther up into her hair, twisting his hand and holding her immobile. He reached his other arm around and placed the other large hand in the middle of her lower back, and with both hands he pulled forward, sharply, painfully.

Ginny fell onto his lap.

He had to give her credit. She did not scream. Her mouth was not hanging open. Her eyes, rather, had narrowed like his had done previously, and she was simply watching him, breathing heavily through her nose.

Lucius reached down with both hands and pulled violently at her thighs, placing them on either side of his own legs. With a sharp yank, she was tugged into him, her soft, hot flesh settling over him, her skirt riding up so that all that separated them between her legs were his trousers and the thin lace of her underwear. He could feel her burning through them.

Enough was really enough.

He brought both hands up to her face and, brutally pulling, her face was down to his and then he kissed her. That was when she made her first sound: Ginny gasped into his mouth and he brought a hand up to the back of her head, winding his fingers into the hair again as he clicked teeth with her, bit at her lower lip until he could taste her blood tang, pushed his tongue into her mouth. When she tasted her own blood, she growled, and began to come to her senses.

Instead of fighting him, however, Lucius was surprised to feel her hands twist in the material of his shirt right below his collar. She hissed into him, her eyes open as they kissed, her hips rocking slightly against his.

_Enough_.

Standing, he held her under her legs, kicked his chair even farther away from the desk, and roughly pushed her back onto the top of the desk, lying atop his papers and quills. His inkpot tipped over as he did so and the black liquid started to ooze down the desk towards them but Lucius didn't care and neither did she, apparently.

She raised her head to look at him as he tore open her shirt, yanking her bra down so swiftly that she was sure she would have abrasions in the morning, as he tossed her skirt up to her waist, ripped – literally _ripped_ – her underwear off. Lucius removed his belt so quickly that it snapped, the leather sounding wet and whip-like. His trousers were undone and then he was bare, released into his hand, erect and thick, and before she could lower her head to the hard surface of the desk he was there, brushing against her inner thigh, and then he was completely inside her, inside fully, and her breath was gone from her and she hit her head back against the desk, gasping.

Ginny made the most guttural sound as her legs reflexively came up around his waist, but Lucius gave her no quarter and instead began a brutal, driving pace, thrusting into her so powerfully that she had to hold onto his wrists where they were holding her hips for fear that she would fall off of the desk.

The spilt ink was smeared along her ribcage and her earlobe and the fingers of his right hand.

Lucius leaned down and began to speak.

"When you fucked my son on my desk, is this what you were picturing?"

How close he was to the truth – she made a sound that closely resembled a sob, and he sped up, his hands traveling from her hips to grip at her shoulders, keeping her pinned beneath his movements. Because she could not slide up the desk, her body was made to accept each of his drives, her soft flesh yielding to his hard lines and tendons. Her teeth jarred and chattered with each of his movements, the molars clacking in time as he thrust again and again into her.

"Were you thinking of me" – and here he snarled – "_Ginevra_?"

At mention of her name, Ginny reared up and spat at him, right into his face and he laughed – he _laughed_ – and wiped it off with his sleeve and then and lowered himself almost on top of her, his hips never ceasing the tattoo that they were blazoning out.

"You are so _fucking_ spirited –" this whispered into her ear, and she craned her head to look up at him, watching his face, noting that so many of his stress lines and creases were gone in fucking, were smoothed out, his lips relaxed with pleasure, his eyes boring down on her, relentless. The wool of his trousers was chafing at her calves and his fingers were hot, branding her shoulders with bruises that would mark her as his for days to come.

She made a strangled, muted sound that almost came out of her mouth as a laugh, or as a moan.

"Fuck me." She hissed the two words into the pathways of his ear and he stifled a groan in his throat, tightening his grip on her, moving his face away from hers and down into her hair, next to her ear, avoiding her eyes as he moved harder and faster, impossibly, impossibly so. And then he shifted, rolling his hips up slightly and before she could swear out loud with the pleasure of it, he had hit the same spot again, and by the third time she was coming, gripping at the broad mesa of his shoulders, her legs tightening like a vise around his hips. She was coming – hadn't stopped coming – and her head was thrown back and she was hoarsely crying his name over and over again – _Lucius, Lucius, Lucius_. He was overcome and the vertebrae at the base of his spine seemed to lock, rigid, as he came hotly inside of her, wave after wave.

He lowered himself to his forearms, not quite resting his body on top of hers, and he saw that his entire right arm was stained black with ink. The tips of her red hair were black – her right hand and her right flank, the line of her side – all black. The inkpot was empty, gaping on its side. The two of them were stained.

She let her legs drop from around him. The flesh peeling away from flesh made a sweet, sticking sound.

"Oh, fuck." Her words were sighed. He sighed in return, and lifted himself off of her. As he straightened up, Lucius surveyed the woman beneath him.

Ginny's eyes were half closed, her pupils black and huge, matching the ink-shade of her right side. Her shirt was gaping, torn, and her breasts were chafed from the movement of his shirt against them. He looked down between her legs as he pulled out from her, watching her pink and red wet flesh, the sticky silver strands of their damned rutting still attached to him and to her, and he reached a hand down to bat them away.

Ginny shut her legs slowly, wincing as she sat up to look at him. Lucius sat back down in his desk chair, staring at her, breathing only just a little heavier than normal.

"I'm a mess."

He wasn't sure if she was talking about her current physical appearance or her emotional state, but with that utterance she slid off of the desk, picking up the rag that was once her underwear, righting her skirt, pulling her bra back up to cover her reddened nipples. As she held her shirt together as best she could, she turned and began to walk purposefully out of his study.

Lucius tilted his head, his eyes on her back, interested.

Ginny stopped in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder.

"Yes. I was thinking of you."

She left, closing the door behind her, and he heard her leaving the manor.

---

**well, it's the chapter that you've all been waiting for, and the chapter that i have been racing towards publishing. to all my followers: many thanks! you often make my day with your words. hopefully this whets your carnal appetite for a while.**


	9. Chapter 8

**one update after another. i can't stop writing. enjoy!**

---

"_They were my favourites! He took my Coleridge and my Conrad and my Murdoch and worst of all – worst of all – he took my Euripides!"_

He had found her damn books. He had searched the entire bloody library and it had taken him a week, but he couldn't even stay in the damned room knowing that there was probably a remainder of her stored somewhere in the shelves. He had replaced the blotter on his desk after she had left. He had even changed the colour of his ink from black to dark green.

_Lord Jim_ had been wedged between a book on psychometry and a pamphlet on methods for vampire testing. _The Bell_ was slid between a magicked version of the Kama Sutra and a book on fidelity within pureblood families. The book of Coleridge poems he had found between Draco's old potions textbook and a few of the manor's blueprints. _Medea_, however, had been a bit of a harder go. Lucius had nearly pulled every book off of the shelves searching for that damned book. In the end, it had been at the end of a shelf between a book end and – _damn_ – one of his old notebooks.

He looked at his library books now scattered haphazardly across his carpet.

_Fuck_.

She was fucking everything up – he was never this chaotic.

Lucius looked down at the books in his hand. Xerxes could take them. He could wrap them in leather and stamp them with the Malfoy crest and send them with the bird.

_But_ –

He looked out the window.

It was very rainy.

He didn't want to stress his bird with such a heavy package in inclement weather.

_You fool_ –

The weather –

_The weather_ –

And the package of books was really quite heavy.

Lucius sighed.

And he hadn't seen or heard hide or hair of Ginevra Weasley since he had rutted her on his desk four weeks ago, and it was disconcerting. He had no way of knowing if she was faring well, or if she was distraught, or if the combination of events had affected her – if she had maybe harmed herself –

Lucius turned on booted heel and walked out of the study to his cloakroom.

He really couldn't risk sending his prize bird in the weather.

Ginevra Weasley would have to settle for a personal visit.

---

She hadn't expected to see Lucius Malfoy on her doorstep. She had expected her brother or Hermione or some other person checking up on her to see if she had hung herself from her curtain rod yet. Of course they were concerned about her _now_, now that she wasn't with Draco. But she hadn't expected to see Lucius standing on her doorstep, looking down at her from beneath a fur hat, the rain streaming down the lines of his cloak.

"Don't just gawk at me."

She moved aside silently and he shouldered his way into her tiny entrance hallway. She felt miniscule next to him, dressed only in a light slip of a dress, barefoot, bare-shouldered. He was armoured in his clothes and so large – looming over her.

"Miss Weasley – " Ginny sucked in a breath at the use of her last name. "I found the books that my son had taken from you."

Lucius stared at her for a second before holding out his arm, brandishing the package of books at her. She stared back at him, her mouth slightly open, blinking slowly as she turned her focus to what he was presenting to her.

"My…books…" Her voice was so faint that Lucius almost didn't hear it. He shook the books at her, arm still fully extended as if to keep her as far away from his body as possible.

"Yes, your books," he snapped. "Are you daft? Take them. I toted the damned things here. I'm assuming that now you will stop disturbing the peace of the Manor? You have all your items. Please get on with your life."

The blow was so hard his head actually snapped right. He hadn't even seen her move but Ginny Weasley had slapped him so powerfully with her right hand that her palm was now reddening – she was staring at him, seething, practically crackling, and she was holding her palm up beside her face, facing him, as if to show him the blooming colour across her hand.

"You bastard – you _bastard_!"

Her voice was full of vehemence, and she grabbed the books from him.

Lucius brought a hand up to his left cheek, tenderly probing the skin along the lines of his cheekbone. She had struck him incredibly brutally.

Ginny was staring down at her books and she spoke.

"I don't hear from you for a _month_ after what we did in your study, and now you have the audacity to show up on my _doorstep –_" Here her voice cracked, reaching a wavering pitch – "and hand my books off to me like I'm some sort of stray?" Her eyes snapped up to his and she met his stare evenly. "Do you want to pretend that what we did never happened? You didn't seem so indifferent when you were fucking me into your _desk_, Lucius." Her voice hissed.

His eyes narrowed.

She had _hit_ him.

Lucius made as if to speak but all of a sudden, Ginny's arms went lax and the books toppled to the floor, spilling like a stream of pages and spines, covers open and flapping. Fallen birds. Her arms hung down at her thighs, the fingers limp, and he watched as her face collapsed and she started to cry.

It wasn't sobbing. She wasn't wailing. Instead, Ginny Weasley shut her eyes and Lucius watched as streams of tears welled from under her spiderweb eyelashes, her body slack and swaying, her face tilted up slightly, and that was when he noticed how tired she looked, the mauve shadows under her eyes, her chapped lips. She looked so breakable – so damned breakable.

Before he realized what he was doing he had gathered her into his arms like she was nothing – some little dolly. His cloak eddied around her as her legs buckled, and he sank to the carpet with her, guiding her down, one gloved hand cupped to the back of her head, the other arm wound around her waist. He kept her tight to his body, and felt her hands grab at the material of his shirt as she cried and cried and cried, silently, her body juddering like a boat breaching on the shore.

He rocked her slightly.

She cried still, and he made unintelligible sounds, as if to calm his horses.

She cried and cried, and then eventually, Ginny stilled.

"I'm sorry."

His words surprised even him. He had spoken them into her hair, lips at her temple, and thought for a moment that she hadn't heard him, but he felt her arms move from where they were place at his chest to slip around his waist, and she wrung him, constricting him almost painfully for a few seconds until she relaxed her grip, still keeping her arms slung around him.

Ginny murmured something.

"Pardon?"

She tiled her face up and he could finally see her eyes. Her eyelashes were clumped together into tiny moist spikes, her irises incredibly clear.

"Take me home with you."

Lucius stared at her lips as she spoke.

_What – _

"If I do so, I do so."

He didn't need to say anymore. She understood what he was saying – no waffling back and forth, no insecurity, no leaving. At least not until some sort of understanding was come to.

"Fine. Yes."

She closed her eyes and rested her head against him as he Apparated them away.

---

They were lying on a couch in his study. He hadn't bothered taking his cloak and robes off and had instead wearily laid them down on the first horizontal surface he could find, settling back into the cushions as he pulled her over top of him. Ginny had blearily rubbed her cheek against his damp shirt like a cat and had, after adjusting her body, slinging one leg on either side of his torso, fallen asleep. Lucius had watched her – the rise and fall of her spine, the slight movements of her lips – and had too slipped into a fitful series of catnaps before dropping off completely into a thick sleep.

---

He woke up when she shifted, feeling the two heels of her hands pressing into his chest as she used him for leverage.

"What time is it?"

He hadn't opened his eyes but asked the question, his voice sand-rough from sleep.

"Late. Nine." Her voice was hoarse too, lowered shades from the napping they had done.

He opened an eye.

She was perched on his chest, one knee on either side of his ribcage, the full flesh of her buttocks settled into his stomach. Her hair was in red disarray around her shoulders, staticky flyaways forming a shining scarlet halo around her head. She was looking out the window at the rain, her hands still pressing into his chest. Hot little hands.

He opened both eyes.

Ginny seemed to sense it and looked down at him, almost smiling.

"We slept for – for a long time." Lucius made a humming sound in the back of his throat in agreement and stretched, moving slowly, his arms above his head, listening in pleasure as his back cracked.

Ginny continued looking down at him, the two of them meeting each other's gazes placidly, daringly.

"Thank you. Thank you for letting me do that." She seemed unwilling to give a name to her break down but she was grateful and he could see that. He raised an eyebrow in response and then lowered his eyelids, making as if to slip back into sleep again.

She moved quickly. Ginny suddenly slid her hands up around his neck and simultaneously lowered her body to his chest, her fingers twining in the hair at the back of his neck as her face hovered above his.

He could feel her exhalations of breath on his cheek but still met her gaze with his heave eyes – wanted to see if she would make the move.

She moved her face over to bury in his hair beside his left ear and made a low sound of pleasure as she nuzzled there. Over her shoulder, Lucius closed his eyes in delight.

And then she moved her mouth from his hair to his ear and sucked gently on the earlobe before moving still more, placing miniscule hot kisses along the pathway of his jaw – his clenched jaw – moving still, moving along his skin, scraping her teeth along the ridge of bone until she was again over his mouth, lined up with him, her hands on either side of his face now, long fingers tangled in his hair, fingertips putting pressure on his scalp.

He was still looking at her.

Ginny whispered down onto him.

"Well, if you won't do it, you bloody fool, I will."

She kissed him as he reared up to meet her, his arms coming up around her waist, as if her words had inflamed him, prodded him, and their mouths were slick together, his legs bending and his feet planted on the couch as he pushed up into her, and her calves pressed into the sides of his ribcage as she murmured into his lips, swapping sounds between them.

His hands had traveled down to her bottom and now he palmed a cheek in each hand, fingers playing with the hem of her dress and she broke the kiss as she sat up. He understood tacitly, pulled the dress over her head quickly, threw it across the room and then slid his hands up her body to cup her bare breasts.

He was so _hot_ – his skin was burning and the room was so cool and Ginny was going to have to shed her skin to survive this fever.

_Skin – _

"Skin –" The one word was breathy but Lucius understood her and unclipped his cloak. She helped pulled it out from under him, her fingers snapping through the buttons of his shirt next, pulling that too out from under his torso, running her hands down his body to help his own hands at pulling out his belt, clumsily but hurriedly pushing his pants down his hips, off of his legs, socks joining them on the ground.

Lucius snapped the waistband of her underwear.

"Off."

She rose up on her knees, slipping them down her legs and he threw them, too, before placing a hand flush against her lower back, palm to skin. He could feel her spine click as she pressed her chest to his, the skin-contact new and alien and wonderful.

For a few minutes he closed his eyes and let her rub against him, those cat-like motions returning and terribly uncanny, but as she grew more sweeping in her movements, she brushed against his erection and he snarled a sound at her, hands going to her hips.

Ginny straightened. One of her hands went between her legs and gripped him – here he ground his teeth – and then without any preamble she was pushing him into her, long and hot and thick and she was hot and wet around him as she slid down onto him, her head hanging down, her hair a curtain for him as she watched every inch of him disappear inside of her.

When he could go no further Ginny lifted her head and looked at Lucius.

"Different."

And she was right – it did feel different. He was deeper inside of her – so deep he was clenching at the soft flesh of her hips, trying to resist the urge to either push up harder and invariably hurt her, or to come.

She started to move, then, her spine straight and her head tilted upwards, the skin of her inner thighs dragging along the skin of his hips and pelvis. Lucius kept his hands on her hips, not moving her but attempting to ground her, keep her anchored even as she rode him.

They didn't speak but watched each other, the sound of the miserable rain a backdrop for their sex, their eyes open. Ginny noticed as he rolled his jaw, clicked his teeth if she sat back a particular way, tilted his head back. Lucius noticed as she pulled at a nipple, felt as she slid a finger between his open lips, as she mouthed nonsensical words down at him.

Shifting slightly, her next down stroke pushed him deeper inside of her and the silence was fractured then as he tried to stop the low groan from his throat and she hissed in response.

"Faster."

His word was rumbled and low and she obliged immediately, leaning backwards and placing her hands on his thighs, allowing her rocking motions to change to the primal up and down rhythm of sex. Lucius moved his hands from her hips to her waist and then up to her breasts – breasts moving now with every upstroke – and pinched at her nipples, encouraging her to speed up even more. He trailed his hands down the centre lines of her body to between her legs.

Lucius looked up at her.

She was looking down at him through half-eyes.

"Yes – "

Lucius traced the contours of their juncture, pressing a thumb over her clitoris and she leaned back more, allowing him to watch where his body was moving inside of hers, over and over,

"Fuck –"

He moved his hips up and their bodies met on opposite strokes and Ginny cried out.

"Oh –"

His hands moved back to her hips in order to move her faster, fingers spanning her pelvic lines.

"_Yes_ –"

He was going to come but she was going to come first, and still they didn't break the gaze, still they looked at each other, interested in how the other would come, interested in the physical words of orgasm –

"_Please_ –"

The pace was so fast now that it was impending – her face was in awe and his mouth was open and his fingers dug into her skin –

"**More** –"

And then she felt him coming in hot, slippery swells, a tortured sound ripped from his mouth, his heels pressed into the leather of the couch below him as he pushed up into her so deeply that she gasped and fell forward onto him and then she came too, shouting hoarsely into his hair and against his grinding jaw, crying out almost sob-like as her body moved unbidden, twitchily.

She kept her breasts pressed into his skin as they lay, cooling their breaths together, and when he felt her start to slide into sleep again, he moved them to his bedroom.


	10. Chapter 9

When Ginny woke up it was very late at night or very early in the morning, and she was in a bed that was not familiar to her. As she shifted she realized she was naked, and the feel of the fabric of the bedclothes against her skin and the dull ache between her legs reminded her that she had –

"Go back to sleep."

Ginny jerked, and turned on her other side.

"You startled me."

Lucius was lying on his side, facing her but with his eyes still closed, wearing a pair of slacks but nothing else. His hair was tied back again and he was partially under the sheets.

"Well, I'm not sure where you expected to be."

She wasn't taken aback by his tone. Ginny had expected it. No bout of complicated sex – especially not with this man – resulted in immediate tenderness afterwards.

"Don't be rude. It's too late for it. Or too early." She craned her neck to try and look out the window. "You're awake, too."

"That is an inane observation."

His eyes were still closed so he didn't see her tiny smile, but he did feel her lay her fingertips on his forearm where it rested on the bed.

"Lucius."

And then his name was on her mouth and it was so delightful that his eyes opened unbidden. He sighed. "Yes, now I am completely awake." He took a look at her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." He stared back at her as she looked up at the bed drapings, her fingers starting to draw restless whorls on his skin. "I can't stop – stop thinking." Ginny looked back down at him.

"Are you panicking?" He scrutinized her, and as he tilted his head to look at her through slightly narrowed eyes, she noticed that his hair was pulled back into a braid. Ginny smiled. If Lucius Malfoy did insecure, this was it – just one sentence, spoken amazingly calmly, revealing nothing.

"No. Not yet. I can't help but feel, though, that if … this continues, it will be – " she searched for the right word – "consuming. I'll be in over my head." His eyes had slipped closed again.

"You are hardly Dr. Faustus, Ginevra. And I am not Mephistopheles."

She laughed, a full-body guffaw that surprised him with its indelicacy. "I wouldn't go so far as that, Lucius. You _are_ named after a fallen angel. And sometimes I think you might the devil himself."

"Lucifer was an illuminated soul."

"That's what some people say."

They lay in silence, Ginny with her eyes open staring blankly at Lucius' hairline, and Lucius with his eyes closed, still feeling her fingertips on his skin but saying nothing to her.

It was her voice that broke the silence.

"What do we do now?"

He opened his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Her fingers tightened around his wrist.

"I mean… I mean." Her voice failed for a moment. Lucius laid a hand overtop of hers and met her gaze calmly.

"Yes." They looked at each other for a minute.

"Lucius – you must realize that this is a terrible, horrible idea." He noticed, with satisfaction, that she didn't wish herself out of the situation.

"It's near three o'clock in the morning and I would prefer to sleep now and discuss fractured pasts and dissonant families when there is at least sunlight." He released her hand and she nodded.

"You can take off your trousers, you know." Ginny smiled at him. "I think that they must be a little uncomfortable to sleep in."

His eyes warmed around the corners as he slipped them off.

"Bossy."

There was an awkward moment when she didn't know what the proper bed etiquette was – was she to curl into his arms? She rarely liked doing that with people she had been involved with for a long time, let alone a new conquest. Ginny opened her mouth to speak and he shook his head.

"I don't need to _cuddle_, Ginevra. It's a rarity to let a woman sleep in my bed at all. Consider yourself lucky." Saying that, he closed his eyes and began to slide the descent into sleep. She smiled to herself and turned over onto her stomach, drawing her right leg up to her side. As she, too, began to fall asleep, she reached her left arm out and laid her hand flush against his skin where shoulder met chest. They didn't wake up until late morning.

---

She woke again, blinking her eyes rapidly against the bright, lemony slices of light that were chunking in through the huge windows. Ginny sat upright immediately, drawn to the massive panes of glass and the vermillion landscape that sat, delicious, behind them. Not caring about the fact that she was nude, she pushed off the sheets and walked to the window, running her fingers through the gnarls in her hair as she did so. It was no use – her hair remained tangled and wild around her neck. Ginny moved up to the glass, not quite ready to open the door and walk onto the balcony, but wanting so badly to smell the fresh scent that she _knew_ existed behind the windows –

"Good morning."

She turned her head, resting her chin on her right shoulder, keeping her naked front pressed to the glass. Lucius was walking out of his washroom, still nude as well, toweling off his face. Ginny suspected that he had just shaved.

"I daresay that the neighbours are getting a good view." If he expected her to jump back from the glass like a naïve virgin, she disappointed him. Instead, she laughed that hearty laugh, throwing back her head as she did. It took his breath away.

"Good. Although I didn't think you had immediate neighbours out here in snooty old Wiltshire. And if you did, I can't imagine the Malfoy Manor being visible to prying eyes." She turned around, revealing herself to him, yet walking past him in order to get to the lavatory. Lucius turned as she moved past him. "If you want a good morning kiss, you're out of luck." The washroom door closed behind her, leaving him a bit dumbstruck and perhaps a little amused.

---

When she came out of the lavatory, he was dressed in a half-buttoned white shirt and a pair of soft-looking slacks, sitting at his writing desk, looking over a few papers. She, on the other hand, was still naked, and all of a sudden felt self-conscious about her nudity.

As if he sensed her discomfort, he looked up.

"I have work to do. Can you amuse yourself for the day?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes. I might visit the library." _Amuse_ herself, as if she were a child, as if she were simple-minded. She clicked her teeth with aggravation.

"You can leave the premises, too, if you wish. You won't be able to Apparate directly back into the Manor, but if you knock, someone will answer. Get the house elves to open the Floo to you." He bent his head back down over his letters.

"Fine." Her voice was soft, and she padded softly out of the room, pulling a dressing gown around herself.

---

Only when she had gotten back to her flat, after getting Balius to help her open the Floo, did her legs buckle. She pulled the dressing down tighter around herself as she collapsed face-first onto her bed.

"Oh, god."

Despite having slept all night, Ginny immediately slipped into a disturbed nap.

---

When she woke up, it was late afternoon.

Christ, she had had odd dreams. In one of them, Lucius had had a pair of wings – _how trite_ – but had been standing in a boat and when she walked up to him, he had held out an orange to her, a harp tucked under his other arm. Then she had been in a meadow, and the sun had been red instead of golden, and Draco had been holding a bottle of wine in one hand and there had been a leopard on the outskirts of the lea, around the edges where the forest began. And Lucius had held out a fox pelt to her, and when she had touched it, it had turned into a full fox-fur coat, and she put it on despite being naked and despite it being so hot ­– _so hot_ – outside and she had fainted and someone had caught her –

She shook her head. Ginny stood up and pulled on a pair of khaki trousers and a cool white oxford shirt. Without even realizing the irony of what she was doing, she pulled her hair back, combing it roughly, and plaited it into a tight, long queue. Walking to the washroom, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth.

She was fucked. Coming back to her apartment had jolted her – she was not going to be living in a fairy tale because this was real life – real life existed beyond the doors of the Manor. Real life hunted people, unbidden, and made things bloody and difficult and stratified. Real life was muddy and seeped.

And what was this with Lucius? He made her come harder than any man she had been with before, but this was her prior lover's _father_, and a supremacist and a bigot. She placed a hand over her mouth as she felt, suddenly, her throat contract. He had antagonized her family for years, and now she had _fucked _him. She had fucked him twice and she had liked it. Lucius made her feel like it was easier to breathe – she wondered at that. Maybe it was because she felt like she didn't have to have any pretenses in his presence. Maybe it was because she had already screamed in his face and he hadn't killed her – Ginny laughed out loud for a moment. He made her brain struggle to keep up with him. He made her wet.

She felt the bile rise before she could make it to the bathroom, and instead had to grab the bin from under the desk in the living room. Holding it with both hands, she vomited, and when there was nothing else to expel, she retched and retched until she was quietly heaving, reflexive tears running down her face.

When her body stopped roiling, she sat down on her window seat and alternatively watched the birds outside her window and read scraps of Coleridge.

---

The Floo flaring to life jolted Ginny out of her reverie. She fell inelegantly off of the window cushion and hauled herself up using the back of the couch.

"What? What?"

Balius' head was in her fireplace.

"Oh, shite." She swore out loud. It was late, and she hadn't noticed the time. Had she made a promise to Lucius about meeting him later? Ginny wracked her brain but couldn't remember. "Hello, Balius."

"The master wants to know if you are joining him for dinner."

Ginny stood up fully, pulling at her shirt and smoothing her hair.

"No, thank you. I'm not feeling well."

---

The next morning, she simply refused to get out of bed. She had completed her articles and had sent them in ahead of time, and was now using a few of her sick days, complaining to her boss of a weak stomach. In some way, she guessed, that was true. Ginny didn't even want to eat – she had tried to have some tea the prior night and had gagged on it, having to sprint to the sink to vomit it back up, watching the liquid swirl down the drain.

Turning over, she peered at the line of light that was beaming through the crack in her curtains – bright yellow, Apollonian light that was flooding into her room and making her eyelids feet like they had quartz and heat underneath them. The light – it hurt her eyes and she slid her pillow overtop of her head, relishing the warm, womb-like darkness underneath, breathing the smell of linen and eider and moist exhalation, allowing herself to fall asleep once more.

---

When she woke up next, it was afternoon, and she had been crying in her sleep. She did this, sometimes, ever since second year – wake up from a dream that she could remember nothing about, tears in her eyes and slicked across her face. She could wake herself up from dreams just by crying, sometimes. Ginny exhaled shakily and brushed the back of a hand across her face, feeling the gritty heat underneath her eyelids as she closed them and inhaled, breathed out, inhaled, breathed out.

And it was as if now, now that she had done the unthinkable and had lost part of her dignity like she had, now she could cry about all of her hidden things – Draco leaving, the shaky truce with Lucius leading to that vicious bout of sex, and then the odder, more tender coupling on his couch, and then cry maybe about her other hidden things as well, things like her cruel streak, her impatience, her ability to belittle, her darkest side. She was confused and felt female, felt warm, felt out of sorts and upset and vulnerable – wasn't sure if she had been taken advantage of, wasn't sure if she had been the one taking advantage.

And she had turned down dinner with Lucius last night.

Ginny turned over and fell back asleep, ignoring the warm golden line of light through her curtains.

---

The second day passed by faster. She woke mid-afternoon and didn't even leave her bed to change her nightgown – just picked one out from her bedside set of drawers and changed under the covers, throwing the dirty clothing into the corner of her room. Ginny ignored the tapping at her bedroom window that she was sure was an owl – and how many of them there had been in the past two days she didn't know and didn't want to know – and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

She hadn't been dreaming the past two nights.

Ginny lifted an arm to brush her fingers through her hair and marveled at how wooden it felt – how block-like and dull. It was odd – as though she were an observer from outside her own body, wondering and interested in the functions of her body without feeling it. She turned onto her stomach, tucking her arms under her, and fell asleep.

---

Ginny woke up sometime in the middle of the night, and she knew that it had been her dream that had roused her. This time, however, she hadn't been crying. Instead, she had been coming, coming so hard that her legs had been moving of their own volition, and while she had heard of men achieving orgasm in their sleep, she hadn't known it had been possible for women until she was woken up at three in the morning, both of her hands above her head clutching at her headboard, her knees bent and feet planted on the mattress, thighs shaking. She threw her head back and gasped, feeling the air move across the newly born sweat on her forehead and lines of her neck.

---

The third morning, Ginny got out of bed.

Her legs shook as she walked to the washroom, but she steadied herself in the shower and turned the water as hot as she could bear without burning herself, washing her hair twice, gargling the shower spray, scalding her throat, closing her eyes as she nuzzled under the water. She made breakfast – oranges thinly sliced into a bowl and a warm cup of Darjeeling tea – and ate it cautiously. She grabbed the letters that had been left on her windowsill and left them on her desk, planning to open them later. Instead, Ginny decided to dress herself, choosing a light green cotton sundress, braiding her hair tightly down her back, staring at herself in the mirror.

The dark circles under her eyes weren't as bad as she had thought they would be.

It was mid-afternoon before she found herself in the position she had thought about all day. Praying – _praying_ – that the Floo was still open, she stood in front of the fireplace, tossing a handful of dust – shouting her destination –

She stood up after landing on her knees, dusting her dress off, looking around at the study of the Manor.


	11. Chapter 10

The study was empty. She walked out into the hall, marveling at the fact that he had _left_ the connection open, her eyes darting around at the whispering portraits –

_Where_ –

And then she walked by a solarium and caught the definite sweet scent out _outside_ in the air and her feet turned right without her even thinking and she was walking through the glass-room, through an open set of French doors, out into the most fantastic set of gardens she had ever seen, and the _sun_ was so bright –

She began to walk towards the areas of the garden with the most colour.

---

That was where Lucius found her, thirty minutes later, standing in the afternoon sun. He had seen the lighthouse, the iridescent rich beaming of her hair as soon as he had entered the garden for his walk, but hadn't truly believed it was her until he neared and saw her lithe figure standing among his tiger lilies, her head tilted back, eyes closed, face toward the sun. And that sun – that sun that was glinting, hard and alternatively soft off of the braided hair, the red deepening to a burgundy in the oranged glow of it. Ginny had taken off her shoes – they lay beside her in the dirt – and she was curling her toes into the ground, sighing, just standing, standing still, enjoying, eyes still closed.

He was in front of her now.

"Ginevra?"

She wasn't startled but instead opened her eyes slowly, the traces of a smile on her face. He saw her eyes focus on him.

"Lucius." He wanted to tell her how much he liked the way she said his name – half sighing and half statement, not breathy but firm and soft at the same time, but he just wasn't sure where they stood. He had perhaps brushed her off after the second time they had had sex, but she had ignored him for the past three days and he hadn't heard a thing from her. It seemed so precarious to him – he was hesitant to even step further toward her, afraid that his movement would splinter the orange-rose glow that was around them, the later afternoon sun, the warm, still air. "I couldn't find you in the Manor. I couldn't resist the gardens – the lilies… what beautiful lilies." She ran her palms absentmindedly over the plush flower petals, the heads bobbing in her wake. "You sent me that flower from your personal gardens."

He stood, his hands in his pockets.

"Yes." They stood for a minute, and then he decided to break the boundary of personal space, risking rupturing that glow… he stepped toward her and deftly unbound her hair, carding it out with his fingers before she could even blink. "Better. You look like a Fury when you have your hair down like this." The wind made it eddy around her shoulders and she smiled and then frowned.

Lucius made a sound in the back of his throat, looking as though he were choosing his words meticulously before speaking. "Perhaps you'd best come inside. The sun will be going down soon. I have a feeling – I have a feeling we need to sit and talk." He held out a hand – strong, steady – and she picked up her shoes and placed her hand in his, following him into the Manor.

---

They were seated – Lucius sitting on the couch, the top two buttons of his shirt opened, his palms at his temples as he let his eyes shut, and Ginny in the wingback chair, her legs curled up under her, dwarfed by the enormity of the furniture, her fingers tracing patterns on her leg. He lifted his head and looked at her and she couldn't _help_ it, she had to blurt out the one thing that had been making her sick to her stomach above all else.

"What are we going to do about Draco?"

Lucius thought for a second and then answered. "I don't know."

"He'll go mad." And she was right in that regard – that Draco was so quick to ignite, so goddamned incendiary, that it was entirely probable that he would go insane, fight tooth and nail if the situation weren't handled exactly properly, like defusing a bomb.

"Draco – I will deal with Draco."

"This – he won't take this lightly. He's your son. You're his _father_." And she tripped on the word, that strangled sound being her tell, and his head snapped over to look at her, his eyes narrowing.

"I am aware. And I love him very much so when the situation occurs – _when_ it occurs because right now I hear he's at one of our homes in Côte d'Ivoire, on a business trip for the next month, and is also sleeping with anything that walks, possibly both male and female – when it occurs I will know what is best to do." He paused. "You choked on that word."

"What word?"

Here his nostrils flared slightly and she could see the corners of his eyes set. "_Father_. Father. Like I was some sort of _invalid_. Some sort of curse. An old man." He was almost spitting now, the polished veneer worn down for a brief minute. She had him in a moment of openness and how he would react to her would all depend on her ability to keep him splayed like that for as long as possible so she could pick at him, so gently, yet thoroughly. Ginny hummed a little before she answered.

"No – not a curse." She unfurled her legs like white sails and stood, just wavering slightly, walking over to stand in front of him, slipping between his slightly parted legs. "Not an invalid. Never that. Not an old man. Could never be an old man." She sank to her knees and placed her elbows on the tops of his thighs, not pressing herself to him sexually but instead need to make a form of physical contact. "Forgive me, Lucius."

"Why." The word was not a question but was snapped off.

"Because of my momentary panic."

"I figured as much when you didn't come for dinner that first night." And for one instant she saw that he was hurt by that though he would never, ever say that to her. She rested her chin on his knee. "I figured you were sickened by it."

"Yes, I was. I was." His breathing slowed briefly and she had to continue on with her brutally honest approach. "I didn't get out of my bed for three days. Not even to eat. I would ask you if you knew how _hard_ it was to _fuck_ someone who has been classified as one of your enemies since birth, but I think maybe you know how that feels too. I thought of my family – my _family_, Lucius – and how distraught they would be –" She reached up a hand to brusquely dash away the tears that had started to fall – "and I thought of Draco, and how angry he would be, and of my friends. How sad they would be. How betrayed everyone would feel. And I lay in bed, not even crying, just lying there, deadened and stupid and asleep." He was staring at her now, not speaking, just watching, and she continued on fearlessly. "And then I thought _fuck _– _fuck it_ – I am so sick of hiding and of trying to tamp down my true self and you –" her hand clenched his thigh – "you are so smart and so cruel and so beautiful, and you interest me. You make me wet. You make me want to spend time with you, and it's so soon, and I don't know why I want it the way I do, which makes me feel sick to my stomach sometime, but I know that if I never try this, I will regret it forever. I will have been stupid and cowardly, and nothing like that little ten-year-old who stuck up to you." She finished, looking up at him.

Lucius was breathing slowly – deep, measured breaths – and then he reached his hands down to her and swiftly pulled her up onto him, her legs curled to one side, her body snug into his lap.

"Foolish girl." His voice was low against her temple. "I am old and set in my ways. I cannot change for you."

"Good."

"I cannot change for you and I will not change for you, and I will probably hurt you very badly – many times over."

"Fine."

And this was it – the exchange of little acceptances and promises and concessions. They both could feel it, that they were building the true, strong foundations of something right there on the couch in the sitting room, replacing moldering bases, perhaps being given a chance to begin fresh, perhaps not, but hoping for the chance regardless.

"I cannot be lady of the Manor."

"I don't want you to be."

"I cannot fanny about in dresses and read sonnets and host dinner parties every night and I will not do it. I can't be a kept woman and be relegated to specific rooms of the house, told to _amuse _myself – " she felt him flinch so subtly – "and I won't. I don't want that."

"Good. You're much too forceful for that anyway – spirited."

"I'll argue."

"I argue."

"I'll hit."

"My sweet, rude, girl. You have no idea what will happen to you if you ever dare to strike me, but rest assured that I will have no qualms about striking back just as hard and many times more." She rubbed against him, willing herself to remember that statement.

"I want to get to know you."

"We've certainly gone about this backwards, haven't we?"

Ginny nodded. "Maybe… maybe we should try to refrain from having sex until we can answer questions about each other. Proper questions –"

"No."

" – No, wait, I wasn't _finished_, Lucius. Not for a long time. I'm not trying to push you away, you stupid man. But I think we should stop moving so quickly. As least for a little while. Until I can answer questions about you. You know – things such as _when your birthday is_ or _what your favourite colour is_. Do you understand why I want that?"

He sighed, pinching his nose. "Yes, I understand. How irritating. But if it means that you won't skitter away again then fine. Fine. I consent. No intimacy for a while. A short while. Until I learn that your favourite colour is _pink_."

"It is _not_ pink. Don't be rude."

"Mm. Sorry." He was obviously not sorry, his head tilted back, his eyes rolled upwards, face a grimace of a man who decides to put up with a woman's inane idea. An age-old expression, really.

"Can we start now?" He inhaled heavily through his nose at her words, making as though he loathed the idea of it, but Ginny had a feeling that he was more than pleased at her proximity, more than pleased that she was still resting against his chest, humming softly into his body, and perhaps even pleased at the thought of an evening of discussion, as inane as it might be. She trailed her fingers over his cheekbones. "Please?"

"Unfair."

Her fingertips sailed over his mouth.

"Please?"

He looked at her.

"_Fine_."

---

She was seated cross-legged on an ottoman, the remnants of a buttered dinner roll on a plate beside her, her fingers swirling mindlessly in a bowl of raspberries. Lucius was on the couch again, his dinner plate on the side table. He was looking down at her, down the sloping line of his nose, his eyes shelved by the harsh cut of his cheeks.

"Name?"

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy."

"Occupation?"

"Terrorist." Ginny's head sharply rose, and she gave him a withering glare.

"One – that is _not_ funny because I lost a … we lost… people were lost." He raised his eyebrows at her – not mockingly, but as if he were inviting her to continue. "We should probably never talk about the war." She looked down, murmuring to herself, as if she were taking notes. "Never." Looking back up, she glared. "And two – stupid humour doesn't suit you. Current occupation?"

"Avoidance never leads to good things, Ginevra."

"_Quiet_. Quiet, please. If I want to avoid the topic, I will avoid the topic. _Current _occupation?" He looked back at her and she sagged a little. "Come on – please. If we can't get past knowing the basics, how are we going to ever make it farther? Please don't make me fight you."

Lucius stretched his arms over his head. "Philanthropist, financier, advisor."

"Favourite colour?"

He sat up. "These are _ridiculous_ questions. This isn't a dating service."

"Do you realize, then, Lucius, that I've _fucked_ you and I don't even know your favourite colour? That might not be disturbing to you but it's a little odd for me. I don't know your birthday –"

"December 28th" Ginny gaped. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Holy Innocents' Day." He nodded.

"Yes. Red."

"What?"

"My favourite colour. Red."

She laughed suddenly – a sharp bark. "No it isn't."

"Yes. It is." His eyes rested on her hair and she was silenced. "It always has been, long before I knew it was associated with that fool house of yours in school."

"You never wear any of it."

"I don't look quite right in red."

Ginny found that hard to believe. "Red," she repeated.

"Yes. Your precious colour of bravery –"

"Bravery – no. Red has never truly been the colour of bravery. It's so much… it's… Anger and passion? Yes. Fire and pain and blood and brimstone? Most certainly." She laughed, high and clear, and clapped her hands once. "It makes perfect sense now." Ginny smiled at him to assuage his irked look. Suddenly her face shifted, tectonic, and she sobered. "Green."

"What?" Now it was his turn to ask her.

"My favourite colour is green."

He sat silent for a moment and she was afraid that she had someone unknowingly offended him until he suddenly looked at her and smiled – bright, crooked and rusty, big and blinding, the corners of his eyes warmed and the thaw spread to his face and she just couldn't sit up straight for a moment.

"Hope. Green is hope."

_Hope_.

---

They had taken a break and come back to it and now Ginny held a glass of whisky, sitting against the arm of the couch with her legs extended, calves lying across his lap as he sat up straight, nursing a snifter of brandy. It was his turn to ask her.

"Composer?"

"Tchaikovsky. Mussorgsky. Holst."

"That was an answer consisting of _three_ composers."

"I couldn't choose." He sighed at her but absentmindedly began to rub his thumb across her ankle.

"So impertinent. Biblical figure?"

"Absalom."

"Place?"

"Delphi."

"Book?"

"Can't choose."

"_Try_."

"Paradise Lost."

"That is not a book. That is an epic poem."

"Arcadia."

"A play. Stop being pert."

"I can't choose just one. The Theogony."

"Another poem – alright, fine. Month?"

"November."

He was running his hands up and down her legs now as far as he could reach without shifting his torso. Lucius looked at her. "The month of the dead."

"The month of purgatory." She willed away the tears. No time to think about death or the lot of it now. She had cried enough in front of him and there would be no more.

"One more."

She struggled a little in sitting up. "Okay. Ask."

"Crop or flail?" Ginny looked at him and smiled.

"Crop."

He grabbed for her, pulling her to straddle him. "Good answer, sweet." Ginny laughed breathlessly against his mouth and then kissed him hard, her fingers of her left hand grabbing at his chin, distorting and crumpling the flesh there, the pads of her fingertips leaving red marks on his white skin. She hummed against his mouth as he cupped the back of her head.

"No – no." Her words were murmured and soft against his mouth. "No sex."

Lucius kept his hand at the back of her head, layering damp kisses on her mouth, cross-hatching them on her lips. "This isn't sex." Ginny shook her head, trying to dislodge her mouth from his.

"It will lead to it. It will!"

"Mmm." He unwound his arms from around her waist and she slipped off, standing, holding out her hands. Lucius looked at them and looked up at her.

"Bed."

He stared.

"Are you sending me to bed, Ginevra? I'm not a six year old child."

"Thank god for that." She brandished her hands at him again and he was brought back to when he was standing in her foyer, shaking her errant books at her. "I'm exhausted. I'd like to sleep now."

He eyed her. "Can we sleep in the same bed?"

"Do you promise to keep your hands to yourself?"

"_Fine_."

---

She had to wear one of his soft cotton short-sleeved shirts to sleep in because she hadn't thought to bring anything.

He walked naked out of the washroom and stopped at seeing her.

"What?"

"I like that."

Ginny looked around. "_What_?"

"It looks good on you." He nearly smiled at her and then frowned slightly, saying no more and instead climbing beneath the bedclothes.

"Oh." Her word was a puff and all of a sudden she felt awkward.

"For Scylla's sake, Ginevra" – she nearly laughed out loud at his outdated language – "get into _bed_ and turn out the lights. I'm exhausted from the question-and-answer period." His voice was muffled, as he was turned on his far side.

She extinguished the lights and slid into the bed beside him, turning onto the same side as he was lying on, staring at the stiff muscles of his back. Placing her palm between his shoulder blades, she pressed. He hissed.

"What are you doing?"

"Just touching."

"Stop. Unless you want to rescind your bloody _rule_." He remained turned away from her and she sighed, turning onto her back and falling asleep.

Lucius lay beside her and stared at the wall.


	12. Chapter 11

When she woke up, she was facing the balcony windows, peering at the light that was struggling, trying to force its way into the room from underneath and between the curtains. Focusing her eyes, Ginny noticed a large-spanned hand next to her head, draped over her right shoulder, pressing her slightly into the bed, the fingers of the hand planted on the bed sheet. Leaning back slightly, she could feel the heated mass of a body hovering behind her, and she turned within the arm holding her and looked at him.

He was lying on his side, his eyelashes fanned out across his skin like whipmarks, his mouth relaxed in sleep – full and soft – and his breath evenly paced and deep. As she watched him she was struck with how entirely exquisite he was – how fine-formed, how shining, how distinguished, how beautiful even in advancing age, even with the so subtle threads of silver that were laced through his hair, silver that she could only see now so close to him. Reaching out, she slicked her fingertips over his high eyebrows, his eyelashes, the ridge of his nose, and his eyes opened and she had a feeling that he had been awake the entire time.

"Good morning." She was so close to him – incremental inches away from his face, so near that she could feel his deep, slow inhalations and the soft warm puff of his exhalations skittering across her cheekbone.

"Good morning." His voice was still rusted from sleep.

Ginny smiled softly and reached a hand out to absentmindedly tug at a loosened piece of his hair, spearing her fingers through it, winding the lock around the tip of her pointer finger, pulling gently. Lucius hummed under his breath, still meeting her eyes, and mimicked the same action on her, looping one of her miscreant morning curls around his middle and ring fingers, running the hair through the cracks of his hand. Ginny juddered and closed her eyes as he released the hair and spread his hand out over her head, pressing his fingertips into her scalp, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make her hips move of their own accord. She was amazed at how large his hands were – how one hand could span her entire head, crush her maybe, rip her jaw out of her skull. She crooned wordlessly, bucking her head into his grip further as he massaged her head.

"Good girl," he murmured, and she tugged a little harder on his hair, moving closer to him, mouthing at his chin, dragging her teeth over the skin there, seemingly having forgotten about her no sex vow, seemingly determined. He slung a leg over her and then he was astride her, naked still, and was kissing her so swiftly and deeply that her head was pressed back into the pillow. He was hard already and she could feel the damned heat of his skin through the thin, sheer cotton of his shirt, and when she moved, the shirt shifted, the hem rising, and the skin of his groin was against her, between her legs, and she gasped into him –

Lucius released her bottom lip from between his teeth, almost biting into it, drawing blood with his preternaturally sharp incisors. Pretenatural –

"My apologies."

His voice was still dusty from sleep and was low and sweet in her ear. A massive shiver tickled down her spine and she couldn't help but writhe.

"I must have moved in the night."

And then he was grabbing her ear lobe between his teeth, pulling on it, his lips spiriting down over the drawn lines of her neck, ending down the slope of her shoulder before he placed a light kiss on it and moved away from behind her.

She nearly yelled out loud but instead closed her eyes, pushing her head back farther into the pillow, chewing on her lips.

"You have one hour."

"What?" Ginny turned over and looked at him. He was standing, his naked back to her, hair pulled over one shoulder, looking back at her with a scrutinizing stare.

_Adonis_

"I've planned a trip for us." She goggled. "We're going to Greece."

"No we are _not_."

"Yes, we are. I don't want to stay in the Manor because it reminds me of Draco and I'm not ready to think about that _yet_. And you want to play house with your questions and answers, and what better place to get to know each other better than locked in a villa together?" Ginny stared. "You can go pack things from your flat, if you wish. I've contacted the paper on behalf of you and they know that you are going on a three-week vacation."

"_What_?" She was angry now, standing up on the bed, staring harder at him, her arms akimbo and her red hair gnarled around her neck. Lucius' gaze was measured somewhere between her legs and she blushed, pulling the shirt down. "You can't just bloody do that. You can't just control my –"

"Yes, I can."

She threw a pillow at him so quickly that it actually struck him before he realized that she had even moved, and Lucius remembered then that she had been a damn good Seeker back in her school days – Draco had been effusive about her even then. The pillow had catapulted from the bed – hard – and had hit him in the head. A square shot, it had made him stumble slightly. He looked at her. She was still standing in the centre of the bed, growling at him, nearly gnashing her teeth in his direction, her hair still branch-like and feral around her, her hands clenched, the hem of the shirt riding up just enough that he could see the shadow of pubic hair from between her legs.

Lucius crossed his arms.

Ginny furrowed her brow deeper than he thought possible and _snarled_.

"Yes, I can, Ginevra. I'm able to. I don't want to do it often, but I'm doing it now. You wanted this. You wanted to get to _know_ each other, and I don't want to stay _here_. I can't." He looked up at her. "Will you come?"

Just like that, the face-off was broken. She sighed. There was a plaintive entreaty in there somewhere, layered underneath the arrogance and anger. She couldn't say no.

"One hour."

---

She stood in the front hall of the Manor, fifty minutes having passed. She was early – she was always early. It had always irked her that Draco had been late all of the time, tearing around at the last minute, trying to find his tie, his shoe, his wand, his quill. _Draco_ – she placed a hand over her diaphragm and for a moment struggled grievously to draw breath, feeling as though she were being wrung, choked –

"You're early."

She turned. He was striding down the stairs.

"What a stupid comment, Lucius." Even as she was disparaging him, she was wide-eyed, cataloguing his physicality. He was dressed in light brown slacks and a white linen shirt, his hair pulled back tightly and braided neatly down his back. He was carrying a leather case.

"Don't be rude. I was only just impressed. I hate tardiness." She smiled at that.

"Where are we going in Greece?"

He continued down the stairs, purposefully ignoring her question. Walking measured steps toward her, his boots resounding dully across the polished floors and ceilings, he held out a hand to her, and when she took it, he stopped directly in front of her, loosely holding her hand and looking at her.

"Guess."

"_Guess_?" She was agog. Lucius seemed too – what? Too old, too sophisticated, too bigoted for something as frivolous and wonderful as a guessing game.

"That's what I said, yes."

Ginny smiled a crooked smile at him. "I _love_ guessing games. Kalamata?"

"Good god, you think with your stomach. No." He was fingering the straps of her own bag now – a small bag, packed only with a few pairs of slacks and sandals and wispy dresses that she had bought but had never worn in the belligerent English weather, had only dared to buy them in a moment of frivolous weakness on her travels.

"Megara."

"You resemble a Fury but no. I don't need to see where Virgil died." He was picking up her bag now, looking down at her with an amused look. "Are you picking at complete random?"

"Everything has a meaning with you, doesn't it?"

"I try."

"Mykonos?"

"Getting closer. Use that brain of yours and think back to your Greek history."

Ginny pursed her lips. "I haven't read that in a while." She cocked her head to one side and thought for a quick moment, and then her head snapped up, her eyes clicking in her head like beads as they met his gaze, tinted by a smile.

"Good girl. You got it."

He reached for her quickly and wrapped her in his arms and as she felt the tug of the Portkey, she heard him speak into her hair, against the top of her head.

"Delphi."

---

When she stopped reeling enough to stagger and try and stand on her own, she noticed first the heat – not exceedingly hot but surrounding her, embryonic. Ginny stood straight and slit open her eyes, letting herself begin to adjust to the brightness.

His voice was from behind her, moving as if he were circling her, pacing languidly, a home here. "Welcome to the centre of the earth."

And then her eyes were open and she was staring, eyes glistering, her hands going from hanging limply at her sides to coming up to her face.

---

**Expect a little bit of a break between this and the next installment - hectic time of the year right now!! Enjoy.**


	13. Chapter 12

Ginny sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair. She stared down at the ground between her feet, trying to catch her breath. She felt like there was a hot curling vise around her chest – her lungs were finicky, her ribs constricting. The heat was novel. The action of unpacking her things into the master bedroom had momentarily floored her. All of a sudden she had had to sit down and let it wash over her, saline and new. Ginny shifted, falling back onto the bed, her arms down at her sides, her eyes closed.

She felt his presence before she heard him.

"Are you alright?" The bed beside her was indented as she felt him sit.

"Yes." Ginny opened her eyes and looked up at him. He looked like an archangel. "The villa is nice."

"Nice?"

"Gorgeous. The villa is gorgeous." The answer appeased him and he relaxed, almost as if he had been waiting on her approval. "I expected flashier from you." His brows came together and he pursed his lips at her.

"Sometimes…" Lucius looked around the master bedroom, eyes taking in the warm yellow tones, the ochre accents, the linear Spartan accoutrements. "Sometimes people need something that lets them breathe easier." He looked back down at her. "More space." They looked at each other for a moment, and Lucius exhaled softly through his nose. "You are so alive." His words were so soft that Ginny had to stare at his lips to try and understand what he was saying. "Bright…"

She wondered about him, really. She wondered how balanced he was, if he was mentally sound. He shifted so quickly, so mercurially sometimes, and she was constantly off-balance. He kept her constantly off-balance, and for someone who was so used to keeping her balance in so many aspects of her life, it was frightening. Ginny kept watching him, her mind trundling along. So maybe that was it – maybe that was why she was so attracted to him. She could feel the arrows of heat narrowing their way down her body, nestling between her legs, her thighs twitchy, longing to lock around his hips, feel the slim juts of bone pressing into her soft flesh. She wanted to put a halt on the physical aspect of the relationship in order to further the mental and emotional aspect, but regretted it at times like these.

Lucius was still looking at her. He made a flexing sound in the back of his throat, his eyes running down her body, inching along. She wasn't sure exactly what was happening in the moment, but she didn't mind it.

Ginny smiled small and propped herself up on her elbows, turning to face him head on. "It's a beautiful place, Lucius."

He seemed to shake himself, rolling his shoulders, sinewy, and quickly stood up, immediately moving back two steps, tilting his head. "Are you sleeping here, or do you want the sheets pulled down in the guest bedroom?"

"This should be fine, thank you." Ginny frowned lightly as he turned and left the room, and as her eyes following the lanky lines of his back, his fluidity, she wondered if the momentary light cracks in his façade would ever widen permanently. It was possible that Ginny would never get to the next level of Lucius.

She didn't know if she could live like that.

---

Over dinner, Ginny decided to begin peeling back his layers. She was determined to use her words diligently and wield with extreme precision – words akin to a flaying knife.

He was across from her, silently eating the salad she had prepared, his shirt halfway buttoned, his hair loose but pushed back over his shoulders, down his back.

"Do you ever talk with Narcissa?"

She made sure that her voice wasn't prying, wasn't accusatory, simply bland and genial. He looked at her from the corners of his eyes without moving his head.

"Interesting."

"What?"

"That you would ask about my ex-wife."

Ginny shrugged one shoulder effortlessly. "I'm not a jealous type, really. I'm more curious. But I don't mean to pry." She continued eating. "If you don't want to talk about it, I don't mind."

"It's a very occasional correspondence." He looked at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. "She will probably re-marry soon. She has that effect on people."

"Do you mind?"

Lucius paused, laying down his fork and folding his hands on the table. "Do I mind that she will re-marry?"

"Do you mind that she might re-marry and you may not?"

He smiled.

"Ginevra – what exactly are you getting at, you rude thing?" She coloured lightly, realizing how her question sounded.

"No – I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. Marriage has never been… it…" She lost her eloquence for a moment, running through words in her head. "I have never looked upon marriage as a thing that I wanted to work towards. Despite what my mother may say. I don't need that. The idea of it – makes me feel – it makes me feel itchy and hot – trapped." She shook her head. "I don't need a piece of paper to justify… I don't…" Ginny trailed off, looking thoughtful, and sipped her wine.

"Hm."

"I would admire you for not marrying again."

"It was an arranged marriage, but I'm sure you knew that." She nodded. "I don't see marriage in my future, no." Here he glanced at her as if to ascertain her reaction, and was stunned, for a brief moment, to see her smile, wide-mouthed, genuinely, at him. He had thought, perhaps, that she had been bluffing about her dislike for marriage. "You are queer, you bonny girl."

She laughed that rich laugh and he was struck at how odd it was to hear such an aged, wonderful laugh from someone so young. Picking up his fork, Lucius continued to eat.

Until Ginny spoke again.

"Have you heard from Draco?"

He froze, the fork stuttering for a moment before he recovered, liquidly, and the utensil continued its arc to his lips. Chewing, he scrutinized her before swallowing and answering.

"No. Not recently." He seemed content with that answer but Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and he sighed and continued. "A week or so ago. I received word from him that he was going to extend his stay and that he was 'fine'. He insinuated that I should bugger off and leave him alone. Charming, as always."

Ginny hummed and then forged ahead.

"Is it a good relationship that you have with him?"

Lucius set his wineglass down on the table with an audible click, and she noticed the subtle tics and tightening of his fingers around the stem.

"Ginevra –"

"You can't use that tone with me. As I told you before, you're not my father, so don't chide me." She said it without rancor, just merely stated it, keeping her face open and gentle.

"Yes, you often use the father argument. It's lovely to be reminded that I certainly could be your father." His tone was clipped again and Ginny realized that she wasn't accomplishing anything with her method. She decided to change tactics. Standing, she dragged her chair around the table, changing sides so that instead of being across from Lucius she was now beside him. She yanked his chair out from the table, nearly dislodging him in the process, and, ignoring his irritated grunt, she lay down across the two chairs, setting her head sideways in his lap, lying on her right side across the wooden seats.

He sighed, but after a taut minute, he raised his hand and began absentmindedly touching her hair.

Ginny felt a massive hot surge of relief race through her. It always seemed as though they spoke better when they were touching somehow. He seemed, also, to be more comfortable with no eye contact. She petted his thigh, under her head by her cheek, closing her eyes like a cat as his fingers worked through her hair,

"Lovely hair." His voice was a murmur, and she rubbed her face across his pant leg, wordlessly acknowledging his intimate statement. Lucius quietly stroked her hair for a while more before speaking.

"Our relationship has always been a little fraught. I am not a good father." Ginny tightened her grip on his leg in encouragement. "I know that. Draco is … volatile at times."

"He's not terrible." Her voice was soft.

"No, nothing like me in my younger days." Ginny had a vision of a Lucifer-like Beserker, a bleached Cú Chulainn, sinewy, hair whipping around a cut-glass face, eyes even crueler. She resisted the urge to shudder. "But he's – I'm sometimes worried about him." It sounded like he was grinding his teeth. "And now I've taken something that belonged to him. I'm apprehensive of how he will react to this. I don't want to drive my son into madness."

Ginny shifted, raising herself up, and turned around, quickly sitting in his lap, her thighs outside of his. She grabbed his hair in two large hanks, curled in her fists, and tilted his head back. He didn't react but instead kept his eyes on hers, watching her as she searched his face. Lucius wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she seemed to find something because she leaned forward suddenly, kissing him hard, unknowingly shifting her hips rhythmically against him.

When she pulled away with a satisfied gasp, she kept her face close to his.

"You always have time to change. Chances are given." Her voice was an abrasive whisper. "You just fucking remember that." His mouth was a line, but he was listening – she could tell from the percussion of his chest, his breaths rising and falling, his darting eyes.

He closed his eyes and she fit her head to the hollow of his neck. His arms came up around her, wrapped tight and firm.

---

"Enjoying the view?"

He was standing behind her chair, both of them on the veranda, looking out at the sunset. Ginny swirled the soda water in the glass in her hand without looking at it, tilting the cup mindlessly, eyes fixed on the orange seeping through the sky in front of her. She knew that if she looked up, his eyes would also be fixed forward. What a picture the two of them were making – the thought flitted through her mind. What a fantastic, striking profile they made.

"Very much. The effect was almost instantaneous."

"What effect?"

"When you go somewhere – anywhere – and it just feels… right. It feels right." She sipped her drink. "It sounds so cliché. I always wanted to come here, and I just never got the moxie to do it. To just do it. I also never had the resources to properly finance it." She broke their forward profile and tilted her head back. "Thank you, Lucius."

He remained staring ahead, eyes tracking the melt of the sun, but she noticed him swallow.

"Tomorrow –"

She interrupted him. "The ruins?" He looked as though he wanted to chide her but instead nodded, finally looking down at her.

"Yes. If you want."

"I want."

"I thought as much. I'm surprised you didn't tow me there today."

Ginny laughed, turning her head back to watching the sunset, standing and stretching, unaware that Lucius was hungrily staring at her from behind, following the outlines of her body as she cracked her back. She looked back at him. "I'm not _that_ keen." Ginny looked back at the view.

Instantly, she felt him step closer to her, and did not reach out behind her or lean back into him, despite wanting very much to. Instead, Ginny stood tall and proud and waited to see what Lucius would do. Both of them looked out onto the disappearing sun, the orange become reddened and tawny, the light ebbing. As the sun sank below the horizon, his hands spanned her lips, palms resting on the rounded bone, and she then slunk back into him, enjoying the feeling of being pressed together. She laid one of her hands on top of one of his own, resisting the urge to thread fingers together and instead settling for trying to reassure him through touch alone. They stood together until the inky night forced them to retire.


	14. Chapter 13

The first thing Ginny noticed when she woke up was how close Lucius was to her. Usually he shied away from her even in sleep, sliding over to the far, cool side of the bed, languidly clinging to the vestiges of his solitary kingdom. Ginny didn't mind that – she preferred a vast sea of sheets to thrash on, to spread out her legs and arms and feel along the linens with exploring fingertips. This morning, however, Ginny's fingertips were exploring Lucius' forearm from where it was draped heavily around her waist. She was not pulled back into him, but was still close, merely an inch or two separating their bodies. His chin was nearly touching the back of her neck, and she could feel the heated puffs of his breath fanning the wisped hairs along her hairline. She smiled at the window.

He let out a small groan behind her as the morning light roused him thickly from sleep. As he turned onto his back, he withdrew his arm from her, perhaps thinking her to be still asleep, but Ginny remained smiling quietly, realizing now that sometimes in his dreaming he reached out and anchored himself to her.

She remained on her side, turned away from him as he shifted, and when he began to sit up, Ginny stirred, leaving the sheet down around her waist, her breasts exposed. She slid over onto her stomach, looking up at him, the linens barely covering the curve of her buttocks, the cleft between them just visible. She kept her cheek pillowed on the backs of her hands, her palms down on the mattress.

He leaned over her suddenly, moving so quickly that for a moment she was genuinely frightened, and then rapidly impressed at his litheness. He lowered himself lightly on top of her, his front to her back, a hand planted on either side of her head, and he bit at the back of her neck before smoothly easing off of her.

Ginny was unanchored.

"Please –" The word was little more than a gasp, but it did the trick. Lucius stopped moving away from her and instead hovered above her. She arched her back, trying to touch him in some way or another, trying to rub the skin of her back onto his front, but he tutted at her and pushed her down onto the mattress. Bending his elbows slightly he remained above her but nearly untouchable, and she could feel his erection brushing between her legs, and then with a slide of his hips he was running the length of himself along her. Ginny threw her head back, the red curls slipping down her shoulders, and she could hear Lucius inhale.

He shoved her legs apart brusquely, reaching a hand around to push her head into the mattress.

"Keep your head _down_. Don't move." Her body nearly undulated, unbidden, at his words, but she kept herself –

"My… rule…" Oh, she could kill herself for making that no-sex rule, but it had seemed relevant and right at the time, and it still did, and could she go back on her morals like that?

Lucius made the choice for her, plying his hands between her legs and opening her thighs farther, still behind her, still unseen by her. His voice traveled around her.

"I'm not going to be fucking you. Think of it as a reward for making milestones along the path to _getting to know each other_."

And then he had pulled upwards on her hips, balancing her bottom higher in the air, and buried his mouth between her legs, licking long strokes from her clitoris upward to her perineum and then even higher, firmly exploring her anus with his tongue. Ginny's mouth fell open and she felt her face turn red, a blush that was probably seeping down her back, heating the skin under Lucius' hands – because his hands were now grabbing at her shoulders as he concentrated on his task.

"Motherfucker." It was the only word that she could manage, and she felt him laugh into her, the wet sounds as he pulled away.

"Always so verbose, sweet." And then he returned between her legs, having to angle his head and mouth on an awkward, deep angle in order to lick at her clitoris determinedly with the broad, strong part of his tongue. Ginny involuntarily opened her thighs farther, the strong muscles starting to tremble, and he let go of one of her shoulders in order to smack her right flank with an open palm, akin to how a man would coax his horses.

And she wanted to be indignant but then he was slipping his tongue _into_ her, that rogue hand coming up to circle her clitoris, his other hand sliding off of her left shoulder to come to tease between the cleft of her buttocks, sliding inside her there too, an abrasive but not unwelcome intrusion, and Ginny's back stiffened.

It was his sounds that sent her over the hurtling, sweet precipice of orgasm, however. She had been closing her eyes, her fists gripping the headboard so hard that she was losing feeling in her fingers, and then he _moaned_, the soft, throaty sound of a man who was fully, insanely enjoying the task at hand, and Ginny's eyes opened, clicking, and she threw her head back again, the whorls of her hair catching the wan morning light, and she came, body rolling slowly like a cat, guttural sounds flowing from her.

Lucius stayed with her, a hand clenching each buttock, grounding her, as she finished the jerky aftershocks of her orgasm, his tongue still nudging lightly at her, licking subtly. Finally, her arms and thighs gave out and she fell face first into the bed, turning onto her back, pulling him down wordlessly into a deep, wet kiss.

Lucius was surprised but pleased that she was so keen on tasting herself on him, and as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth noisily, he plied her breasts and shoulders with light, circular touches.

Finally, he pulled away.

"Not sex."

Ginny laughed in spite of herself, reaching behind her to clasp his wrist tightly, feeling the pulse streaming underneath his skin.

"That was phenomenal." She stretched upwards and he sucked a nipple into his mouth. She jittered pleasantly. "Thank you."

He pushed up off of her. "Up. We have to get ready for the ruins. It's probably half six by now, and I want to escape most of the heat." Ginny swatted at his behind but levered herself out of bed, dragging on Lucius' white button-down shirt but leaving it nearly open for the heat, and heading to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of water, sipping slowly, watching him as he walked naked through the kitchen and dining area to draw the front curtains, open the windows, let the warm dark morning air filter in, admired his strong legs, the sparse light hair across his thighs, the mild snarls in his hair, the morning stubble. Propping herself against the counter, she ran her hands between her legs, feeling the reddened burn from that same stubble all along her inner thighs.

Ginny hoisted herself up on the counter, her legs slightly open, the shirt hanging, the lowest two buttons done but the rest loose. Lucius stopped mid-stride as he was walking back to the bedroom, wordlessly pivoting on his heel and instead coming into the kitchen, moving in front of her, a hand on the counter on either side of her thighs.

"You're not getting ready." His face was inches from hers. She smiled and lifted the glass up to her mouth again, forcing him to move his head back. When she lowered it, he kissed her.

"… affectionate this morning." Her sentence was garbled, muffled by his mouth. Lucius kissed her again and she reflexively wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands sliding under her bottom as he stepped away from the counter, sliding haphazardly down to the cool floor.

Ginny moved away from the kiss.

"We're not going to make it to the ruins today."

"Fuck the ruins." His voice was low.

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"You don't have to." He tried to pull her in for another kiss but she dipped her head away, tangling her hands in his hair, tugging his head back so that he was staring back and up at her, the ribbing of his throat exposed. Ginny licked across his adam's apple and started to talk to him conversationally.

"Your favourite colour is red. Your birthday is December 28th. You know your literature. But I still don't know you inside out." Lucius juddered beneath her as she bit at his neck and when she came up, looking at him, she smiled sharply and wickedly. "Do you like to fuck from behind?"

"_What_?" His eyebrows bent in surprise. Ginny continued breathlessly, settling herself directly in his lap, layering skin upon skin. The heat of his groin was phenomenal – she was nearly in flame just from being so close to him.

"Or maybe you like to be on top?" She grabbed at his wrists and pulled them down below his back, hold one in each hand. Ginny felt his arm muscles relax and knew that he was giving himself in to the game – with one sharp movement he was able to tear himself free from her and fling her, rag-doll like, across the room, but for the moment he was submitting. She felt like her eyes were going to fill up – the fact that he was tucking away the dominant personality, just for this sublime slice of time, was meaningful for her.

They looked fantastical, the two of them twined mostly naked on the floor of the villa kitchen, Lucius with his back up against the cabinets, Ginny straddling his lap snugly, the men's shirt slipping down her back, their arms knotted into each other, tucked behind his broad body. They looked like a mythical beast, chimerical and heaving.

She rolled against his erection and he could feel her heat, her wetness.

"What did you say about _me_ being affectionate today?" He ground his words out against her mouth.

"Or do you like it when I'm on top?"

They were moving against each other in earnest now, rocking faster.

"Could I tie you? Whip you? Beat you or bite you? Maybe spank you?" He ripped his hands out from behind them, shaking off her wrists, bringing his fingers to her bottom, grabbing at her.

"Silly bitch… playing with fire," he hissed at her and Ginny grabbed his chin in one hand, pinching at him hard until she saw him visibly wince.

"Do you like to fuck in the ass?" She could feel him stiffen below her, his thighs tensing at her vulgar language, her filthy words whispered across the whorls of his ear.

"Do you like to _be_ fucked in the ass?"

His hands grabbed at her so hard she feared she would bruise, have Lucius hand prints branded on her flanks, and he came, lines of hot come rubbing between them, coating their stomachs. She moved against him frenziedly for a few moments more and tailed his orgasm with her own, coming silently, her eyes closed.

They breathed heavily together for long minutes.

"I thought we were supposed to be getting to know each other." His voice sliced through the sticky quiet.

"We are, Lucius." Ginny trailed her fingers down his neck absentmindedly. "The stuttering pattern our bodies make, the language skin speaks, the smell of your sweat." She lowered her face to the crux of his neck and shoulder and inhaled softly. "That's learning, too. That is true learning, when we aren't rutting towards a goal but instead feeling our way along." He rumbled a sort of consent.

"We can go to the ruins tomorrow."

---

They lay in the master bed, Ginny's head by his feet at the bottom of the bed, her feet propped up on the headboard next to where he was sitting and reading. She was eating slices of pears, the juice running down between her fingers, circling her wrists.

"You're going to get the sheets sticky."

He was looking at her from overtop of his reading glasses, yet had his head kept down. Ginny prodded him with her foot.

"Do you want a piece?"

Lucius hummed and tilted over, and without taking his eyes off of his book opened his mouth. She slid the fruit in.

"Thank you." He straightened.

"Lucius?"

"Hm?"

"Did you love Narcissa?"

He didn't look so hostile this time. Instead, he looked thoughtful. He answered nearly immediately.

"No."

"What then?"

"Respect, for the most part. Tolerance. Sometimes admiration. It was an arranged marriage, after all. You know that. And sometimes love can arise in arranged marriages, and sometimes it cannot. It just wasn't a prolific environment for that to happen – not with everything that was going on – with the war…" He trailed off, watching her.

"The war…" She echoed his words carefully.

"Let's not talk about the war. I know it bothers you." He had a softer expression on his face.

"I thought you hated avoidance, Lucius."

He set his book down on the side table and creaked forward, lying on his back next her with his head at the foot of the bed, not touching her but reassuring her with his proximity.

"I do. Very much so. But we have years to talk about that." Ginny turned on her side, quiet, to observe him after that statement – the fact that he referred to their future in terms of years, of wide hanks of time.

She laid her hand on his chest and the both of fell asleep at the wrong end of the bed.


	15. Chapter 14

The next morning, Ginny woke up behind Lucius, the back of his body pressed into her front, her breasts up against his back, her hands spanned around his torso, fingers pressed lightly into the spaces between his ribs. Waking slowly, she didn't realize how intimate their position was until he started, too, to rouse and shifted within her embrace. Ginny quickly withdrew her arms, sliding them back to their places at her sides.

His voice was a rumble, starting in her solar plexus and reverberating up through her body.

"Why did you move?"

Ginny lay still.

"I don't know." It was the only answer she could give. She wasn't sure why she had recoiled so quickly. She had just thought that he wouldn't want to wake up cradled against her – it seemed too much of a childish, coddling thing for such a beautiful, cruel specimen of a man as Lucius. Ginny tentatively placed her hands back on his body, splayed across his shoulder blades, and he hummed softly in assent and appreciation. "You told me you never liked to _cuddle_. Verbatim."

"Shut up."

She smiled, unbeknownst to him, and slid her hands around his back to rest against on his ribcage, stroking at his skin absentmindedly. He didn't offend her much. Lucius was a cruel person but it made her think that perhaps so was she – if she could just laugh at all of his malicious jibes and take his attitude in stride. Maybe that was what she needed – someone who matched her in that regard.

Moving almost mindlessly, she tucked her face against the back of his neck, resting her lips against his skin, hooking a long, pale leg overtop of both of his thighs. Her arms tightened about him.

"Lucius." Her voice was muffled, her face tilted into the skin of his upper back.

"Hm?"

She ran her face across his skin a few times, reminding him again of some lithe cat, and she hesitated before speaking.

"What?" He wanted to prompt her, to shake out of her what she was mulling.

"I'm sorry."

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she felt it, and tightened her grip around him as if to anchor him, keep him from fleeing the scene.

"Why?"

"I'm just sorry." She wasn't sure why she was apologizing but she felt the need to do it. "For the past. For my family when they are sometimes confrontational. For arguing with you when I first was seeing Draco." He tensed again underneath her palms and she squeezed at him harder. "You have to hear this, and you have to hear me speak his name because sooner or later, he is going to know. Everyone is going to know."

"I know."

Ginny pressed her forehead into his back as hard as she could, her eyes closed but mouth open, dragging her lips across his skin as she breathed increasingly heavily. "Can you handle that?"

"What?"

"That – for me – can you handle that for me? _Everyone will know_. We will be scorned and insulted and slandered – perhaps forever. Can you handle that?"

Lucius moved in her arms, still remaining facing away from her.

"Yes."

"Yes?" She tried to keep her voice from becoming hysterical.

"Yes."

And that was it – she didn't need the flowered description of love or promises of chivalry. The one, firm word – _yes_ – yes, yes I will weather that for you, I will stand tall and leonine in the face of adversity and curl myself around you to break the storm upon my own self, yes, _yes_, I know all of this and I know what will happen and still I will remain with you. That one word was all she needed to hear and she licked softly and appreciatively along the skin of his spine, pressing her cheek into him.

"And you?"

His words surprised her but she didn't even pause in her response.

"Yes. Yes." Ginny slid a hand from his torso up into his hair and pulled lightly at it, running her fingernails across his scalp and along the ridges of his ears. It was a reassuring, pseudo-motherly gesture, and she found it often helped to relax him.

Lucius hummed lowly and nodded against her hand.

"You are so beautiful." He started a little at her words, strange as they were. It was rare to hear effusive praise from her – that was one of the things he liked about her. Ginny said what she meant but didn't slather fake words onto him. Her hand was still in his hair, and she was systematically and firmly puling small hanks of his hair, slowly relaxing his entire scalp. "You are. You are." She put her nose to his hair and inhaled. "You make me happy, Lucius. I never thought that would be the case, but you make me very happy."

One of his large hands came down to cover the hand she had across his waist. Lucius tilted his head back into her, and she tucked her chin into the cranny of his neck and shoulder. Ginny moved her slung leg from where it had looped his thighs and slid it between his legs, feeling the weight of his testicles against her upper thigh.

"Yes." He said it once more, and Ginny knew that today they would probably not make it to the ruins either, and she was absolutely fine with that.

---

When they woke next it was nearly noon.

"Shite." Ginny looked over at him. She hadn't heard him swear so coarsely in a while. Lucius had one of his inner wrists laid over his eyes, and his mouth was screwed up. "It's bloody bright."

"Stay here." On her way out of the room, Ginny pulled the drapes tighter, and she could hear him sigh appreciatively from the bed.

On the way to the kitchen, her bare feet made soft sticky noises against the tile. _Bugger_ – it was hot. She hadn't even pulled on a robe when she left the bedroom, eschewing clothing to be instead freely naked. Ginny only hoped that all of the windows were drawn.

How different of Lucius to sleep in – he was always so officious and so mechanical in his work days, waking early, staying up late, drinking his tea black and strong. She liked the idea of him lounging in bed, at least for one morning. They were on a vacation, after all.

She walked back into the bedroom with a plate in her hand and two mugs hooked precariously in her other, kicking the door open with one strong foot and backing into the room rear-end first. She got a laugh from the bedclothes for that.

"Beautiful presentation." His voice was teasing.

"Shut up, Lucius." He had made her smile, her words diluted by her grin.

"What's that?"

"Daft question. Food. I figure that you're allowed to stay in bed for as long as you want today." As she bent over to place the plate on the mattress beside him, his hands came forward and grabbed at her hips, and Lucius pulled her to him, kissing her.

When they parted she grinned at him again.

"My. Affectionate, are we?" She didn't need the constant affection – she wouldn't expect it from him anyway. Lucius responded by smacking her bottom sharply with one open palm, taking hold of the flesh there and grabbing it in his hand.

"Don't be snarky."

She lay beside him and ate one of the orange slices.

"I'm sorry too."

They had been eating quietly and companionably for a few minutes, and his voice rent the silence.

"What?"

"I have so much more to be sorry for than you, and you _apologized_ to me." Ginny turned on her side to face him. His eyes were ahead and he was stalwartly not looking at her, but she felt that the moment was still a big one, a meaningful one. "I almost killed you when you were ten. I was a terrible person, Ginevra. Terrible. I still am a terrible person. And I'm –" he paused for a moment and she wasn't sure if he would continue but he shook for a moment and then – "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_." She laid a hand on his thigh and that was when he looked down at her. "How can you forgive?"

Ginny shrugged one shoulder. "It's too draining not to. It's too frightening to retain all that hate. You must forgive."

"And Draco?"

"Draco should forgive, Lucius. He may surprise you yet. Maybe he is … maybe he will… maybe it will work out. And if it doesn't, we can deal with that. I can deal with that. Draco is, honestly, one of my lesser worries when it comes to revealing our relationship." She could feel the cords of his thighs move as she spoke the last word. Leaning towards him, she said it again, softer. "You and me, our relationship."

"Fuck." His word was breathed. "Fuck. Fuck you. You are too damn good. You are too damn… you are too much to me. Don't leave. Never leave."

His hand coiled painfully in her hair and he dragged her up to him, her thighs upsetting the plate between them. As he kissed her, the pulpy, sweet juice from the crushed orange slices soaked into the sheets.


	16. Chapter 15

They finally stood at the ruins of the temple of Apollo two days later. Ginny had to press her hand to her breast in order to catch her breath from the beauty of it – but not just the beauty. There was such an inherent, fantastic magic and energy that surrounded the place that she was nearly immobilized by it.

Lucius stood leonine and tall beside her, quietly observing the scene before him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Ginny nodded.

---

They walked the ruins slowly, not touching each other but simply observing. Ginny darted sidelong glances at Lucius, noting the way the waning sun hit off of his aquiline face, casting his eyes in orange light. She was happy to be here, yes, but she was happier that she was here _with him_. The ruins were exquisite but they were gone – Lucius, however, was here, burgeoning, corporeal.

Ginny reached over and lightly clasped his wrist, bringing it to her mouth and kissing the inside of it. He looked slightly askance at her, surprised at her boldness. He didn't say anything, however, and they ended up sitting near the Sibyl rock outcropping, watching the late sun shimmer red.

Ginny felt lovely and new. There was a pleasant energy thrumming through her body, and she wanted to tap into the vitality of the place she was in, of the faint connections that were starting to show between her and Lucius, lines of fire that bound them to each other –

Standing, she bent her body, lying down on the sun-warmed ground, feeling every part of herself press into the dirt, the dust, the hot stone beneath her.

"Ginevra." Lucius' voice was irritated. "What are you doing? Get up. You look like a five-year old child."

She laughed at him and Lucius frowned even further.

"Don't be a sanctimonious old prig!"

"Feel it." She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down on her face, untying her hair and letting the loops of red mingle with the warm brown of the dust. "Stop being such a stodgy fart and feel _this_." She kept her eyes closed against the orange intrusion of the sun and against Lucius' inevitable aggravated face. She kept her eyes closed and simply focused, running her fingertips lightly over the ground beneath her. From somewhere above her, she heard Lucius sigh impatiently, and her hand flew out in the direction she thought him to be, grabbing his ankle and yanking – hard.

She was too fast for him. Lucius fell forward onto his hands and knees and even though her eyes were still closed she could hear the grunt of pain and anger that came from him.

But she was no longer concentrating on the man beside her and was instead lying quietly.

"You're lucky there aren't any goddamned people around. Muggles especially." He was nearly snarling but she noted that his voice was still on her level – he had not stood back up.

"Just lie down on your back, Lucius."

There was silence from beside her for a moment and then she heard him creak and shift, and then she sensed him beside her, lying down too.

"You are insane."

"Can you feel it?"

"This is incredibly stupid."

"Maybe if you stopped being a stubborn old thing, you could feel the fantastic thrum of energy here."

"Stop calling me old."

"Well, has your age prevented you from being able to tap into the natural wellsprings of inherent earth magic?" He sighed beside her.

"No. I can feel it."

She reached out to hold his hand, and his fingers curled around hers.

---

They arrived back at the villa dusty and hot.

"Thank you, you sweet man." Lucius' eyebrows shot up.

"Sweet?"

"You brought me to a place I wanted to reach." She wasn't sure anymore what they were talking about – Delphi, yes, but she felt more, more inside of her, welling out –

Ginny lunged upwards and kissed him – hard – both of her hands on his face. She was erratic, breaking away from his mouth, licking wetly across the line of his jaw and the corners of his mouth, biting at his lush lower lip.

He was still for a moment and then she felt his decision thrum through his body, as if the act of coming down to her level at the ruins had galvanized him, pushed him to the choice. His hands came around her and as he pushed his groin against her, already hot and erect, she knew that he was not going to wait any longer.

She gasped into him, struggling for breath as he pushed her back up into the bedroom wall, harshly yanking her hair back with one hand, trailing cruel incisors down her neck, leaving red and pink blushing wakes behind him.

"Lucius…"

"No. Shut up. You have teased me for too long." Her head flung back at his callous words and when she did so he began to place rhythmic and even, hard bites down the lines of her neck, layering the rings of teethmarks overtop of the welts that he had just made. One of his hands grabbed at her wrists, his long fingers easily gathering both of her hands into one of his own, and he pulled her arms over her head, pinioning them to the wall. She didn't try to pull her arms away, awarding him this small battle for supremacy.

He pulled back to look at her, keeping his face simple inches away from hers, his mouth on line with hers but not near – she lunged forward to try and kiss him but he placed a hand over her entire chin and shoved her head back into the wall. Ginny snarled from behind his hand, darting her tongue out, licking his palm first and then attempting to bite his skin. He laughed at her and took his hand away, shoving it down her pants and into her underwear, forcing his way between her legs.

Lucius slipped two fingers into her and Ginny was no longer interested in fighting him for dominance. Instead, she choked out a moan as he moved his index and middle finger inside of her, and as her body began to loosen against him, he released her wrists, moving his hand from her arms to her neck, firmly holding her throat.

She stared at him, fearless and impertinent, even as he curled his fingers towards his own body, pressing resolutely and tightly against her muscular inner walls, fingertips palpating the raised spot inside of her. Ginny struggled to breathe evenly but refused to show any pleasure.

Lucius added a third finger and shifted his body weight, heaving a broad thigh between her legs, the transfer of position allowing him to press inside of her with more force, more load, more purpose, more heat –

Ginny saw white and red spots pirouette and parade across her eyes, even with them open and staring, and she cried out as her legs buckled, falling propped onto his leg and body, Lucius released her neck and pulled his hand out of her pants, deftly and furiously unbuttoning them, pulling off her belt, pulling off his own clothes as he hefted her onto the bed.

He was fast – on top of her before she could speak, layers and miles of heated skin pressed into her body, settling his tense legs between her opened ones, and she couldn't complain, couldn't harp, didn't want to, felt herself breathe as he ran hot dry palms up her thighs, also reverently, and as he pushed into her, both of them sighing at the warm wet, she wound her arms around his neck.

As soon as Lucius was inside of her, Ginny sensed the difference. She watched as his eyes slipped shut as his hips started to move, and she ignored her self-protecting instinct as she began to venerate his face with light touches of her mouth. She traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, the prominent crease between his eyes that reminded her of how difficult it had been for him at times, the sloping of his eyebrows, the gnashing line of jaw.

As she did so, Lucius made a sound that Ginny had never heard him make before – a choking, sobbing heave of a gasp, a grinding cry, a sigh, a relieving of an onus, and then he tucked his head down, burying his face into her neck, continuing the steady, deep pace of his hips, and she understood then – only then – _then_ – that something inside of Lucius had to break, that he would never be whole, that she could only help him so much, go so far, and if she stopped the hunt for perfect, for domestic, they could survive, be together, be a semblance of happy, of hot and wonderful, of radiant.

Ginny nodded, blistering tracks of tears running down her face, wetting his shoulders, her mouth open and dry, cracked with breathing.

"Yes –"

Her word – was it her word, was it his, had they swapped it soundlessly between mouths – was low and breathed and that was when he reared back up, running his hands up both sides of her face, holding her head in place. Ginny slid her hands down from his neck, frantically trying to touch every inch of skin, not entirely sure when this had turned so frenetic, so damned frenzied, but she was enveloped in the Dionysian maelstrom of it, bucking against him, grabbing handfuls of his skin, digging her nails in. She reached down to cup his buttocks in her palms, clenching at him mindlessly, her fingertips delving into the crack between, plying his skin, feathering the tight ring of muscle –

Lucius growled as she did this, grabbing at her arms and yanking them away from his rear, and she felt him swell and twitch within her and knew that he was so close to coming.

He ran his thumbs over the tear-lines on her face, sucking the salty water off of his own fingers, keeping his hands there, on her face, watching her as they moved together, toward one goal. Ginny smiled and then blinked away the tears and brought her hands up to his face, pressing her fingers on his mouth

"You are so beautiful." Her words made him speed up, the sound of flesh creating their own drumming beat, the radiant percussion, and he threw his head back, his hair a bizarre, gorgeous halo, his mouth open and roaring, and as he came, he bent back down and kissed her, crying out into her mouth – imparting into her and onto her his burdens, pain, doubts, life.

Ginny's back arced and she ground against him, coming in sharp surges, her arms and legs locked around his body, holding him down to her. As her body roiled with the last shocks of orgasm, he fell down onto her, still inside of her, and she ran her fingers through his wet, matted hair. His entire weight was on her and it felt exquisite, lulling. Ginny blew cool jets of air across the damp shells of his ears, the moist hair at his temples. She could feel his mouth sucking soft and hot at her shoulders. When he shifted slightly, their bodies sounded slick.

"Thank you." His words were quiet and he didn't pull out of her as he slipped into sleep, her fingers still working through his hair, her legs cradling his body. As Ginny drifted off, she marveled at the fact that the ruins had paled so much in comparison to this, the man on top and inside of her, the present life.

---

When she woke up, Lucius was still on top of her and inside of her. Wincing slightly, she straightened her legs, still keeping him balanced within the cradle of her hips but allowing her stiff muscles to lengthen. Mindlessly, she ran her hands up and down the length of his back, kneading at him.

"That feels nice." His voice was muffled, his face pressed into the mattress beside her ear. Ginny scooped a hand through his hair, pulling it away from the back of his neck. "Hmm." Lucius sighed tunelessly and then straightened his arms, lifting his torso off of her. "Christ."

"Sore?"

"Understatement. Fuck. I'm still inside you." Lucius pulled out of her and her body jittered uncontrollably, her thighs shaking. "Are you alright?" He rolled over onto his back beside her and Ginny moved closer to him, sliding one of her legs between his.

"Yes."

They lay for a while, watching the watery light slide in from beneath the curtains, Lucius stroking patterns on the skin of her shoulders with his thumb, Ginny resting her head against his chest.

"You make me very happy as well." His voice was tired but sated and Ginny smiled against him. "I can feel you smiling."

"Good." She bit at his skin, her hands wandering down his body.

"Naughty." She grinned up at him, cupping his testicles in her hand and pulling gently. His jaw tightened. "Very naughty." When she began to slip her fingers behind his testicles he snarled a little. "Very, very naughty. Turn over."

"What?"

"Turn over." Ginny stared at him for a moment until Lucius disengaged her hands from his body and rolled her onto her stomach, coming behind her and pulling back on her thighs so she reared up onto all fours. "Good view."

"Rude." Ginny bent her head and rested the top of it on the bedclothes as his hands systematically squeezed at the ripe flesh of her buttocks. He was just feeling her, exploring her curves and her skin, gripping her, holding her proprietarily.

"What was it you said to me, Ginevra?" He was hard now and she could feel him against her, hovering between her legs, the heat palpable. "Do you like to _fuck_ from behind?" She didn't make a sound as he roughly kneed her legs farther apart and wound his hands in her hair, holding her immobile. "I suppose we will find out."

With one swift movement of his hips he was inside of her fully and Ginny cried out, unable to turn around to see him because of the extremely tight grip he had in her hair. He began to move slowly and meaningfully, hitting deep but not hitting hard.

"You're extremely wet."

"Stop sounding so – conversational!" Her voice was strained. Lucius laughed and one of his hands unwound from her hair and smacked her hard, open-palmed, on her right buttock.

"Behave."

"Please – " Ginny tried to move back against him, to make him speed up.

"No."

"Please!" He was still slowly pushing into her, not giving her the necessary friction. "Please, Lucius. God, please."

"No – consider this payback." Ginny moaned and closed her eyes. Sadistic bastard.

Finally he began to increase his pace, the heavy pendulum of his scrotum hitting between her legs as his thrusts gained speed. Ginny made a garbled sound as he placed one broad palm between her shoulderblades and pushed down, forcing her torso to the sheets. He hefted her bottom higher and all of a sudden he was perfect – the thrusts were right there, right amazing, and she tried to instinctually close her legs because she wasn't sure that she could handle the electric searing of pleasure that was rocketing through her again and again.

"Keep them _open_." The hand that was not in her hair was shoved between her thighs, wrenching her legs back apart. "Don't you fucking move." His hand cam back to her waist, the thumb tracing between her buttocks, around the circle of her anus, and Ginny cried out.

"Oh, Lucius." The two breathy, mindless words were all that she could manage. He seemed to appreciate them as she felt his hand in her hair curl and the hand at her hip tighten.

"Who do you belong to?" His voice was strained.

"You!" She would answer him anything, anything, if he just kept moving like that, like that –

"Say it. Say it. Say my name. Say _my_ name." He was nearly chanting, barking in time with his thrusts, and she couldn't deny him that, even as she reached a hand around to touch herself between her legs, to increase everything –

"Lucius. Lucius. Yours!" – and here he struck incredibly deep and her body jerked – "Lucius_! Lucius! Lucius – yours! _**Oh** –" Her mouth fell open as she came, silently, unable to make any sounds as her body coiled and then thrashed uncontrollably, and he had to hold her to the mattress with his strong arms in order to keep her from hurting herself or him, and as he lay his weight on top of her, pinning her, she could feel him come inside of her, thick and hot jets of semen that she couldn't even hold, so much of it that it dripped out of her, down him, onto the sheets below her –

Ginny's body slowly stopped its shuddering and she collapse fully onto the mattress. Lucius lay on top of her, immobile for a moment, not even willing to pull out of her. She could feel the thick wetness between her legs and tried to rub her thighs together to feel it more. He made a groaning sound above her and, using her hair as leverage, craned her head back, kissing her wetly and sloppily from behind her.

When he released her, she lay her cheek down on the linens, closing her eyes, and he withdrew from her, but stayed above her body on all fours, licking wetly down her spine.

"Don't go to sleep."

"Why?" She opened her eyes to look at him and saw that he was nearly hard again. "_Again_?"

He laughed lowly and bit at her shoulder. When he spoke, it was right in her ear.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't scream anymore." Ginny's snarl of appreciation was absorbed by him as he held her wrists and kissed her.


	17. Chapter 16

Ginny blinked her eyes open.

"Oh, fuck."

"Quite."

His voice was as strained as hers, and she knew that he was feeling exactly as she did – very, very sore. She was on her stomach, and as Ginny turned over onto her side, she winced so violently that tears were brought to her eyes. There was dried come on her inner thighs and all along her fingertips – some in her hair, too, by the feel of it. There was stubble-burn along her thighs and jaw, and down her neck. As Ginny looked down her body beneath the sheet, she noted numerous bite marks and bruises – mostly from Lucius' mouth but some from his fingers. Her nipples were dark pink and – she didn't even want to explore between her legs.

Lucius had been a fury last night – utterly unstoppable. He had taken her again and again, using his mouth and hands when he had been recovering, twisting her into unholy positions. He had held her to the bed, had made her beg him to stop, had made her beg him to never stop – Ginny brushed her fingertips between her legs and cried out.

She turned over to look at him. His hair was snarled around his face, pink stripes from her nails down one of his cheeks and the side of his neck. His lips were dark and chapped – she had bitten him. His morning stubble was pronounced.

"Oh, god." She buried her face in a pillow.

"I know." He pushed himself into a sitting position, and as the sheet fell away Ginny saw her own bite marks layered across his shoulders and stomach. "I hurt."

"You were –" She felt herself blush. He reached over to finger at the dried semen in her hair, smirking.

"I know. Are you sore?" She glared at him. "Very sore?" He bent over and sucked lightly at the side of her neck. "I'm not sorry." He pushed off the bed, loping over to the washroom.

---

Ginny pushed the door of the bathroom open and watched as Lucius' blurred figurine moved fluidly behind the glass of the shower. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the pow-pow tattoo of her heart underneath her forearms.

He looked over at her, and she could just make his eyes out through the heat fog from the warm water.

"Are you going to come in or just stand and watch?"

"Maybe I'll just stand and watch."

Lucius made a tsking sound and resumed soaping his thighs, moving almost gingerly when he bent down to clean around his kneecaps.

Ginny slid into the shower so quickly that the cold air barely had time to collide with the warm air. He straightened up but didn't turn around, still continuing to lather his upper thighs and stomach, his back to her.

"Lucius."

Her voice was a croon, a beautiful thing. When he turned to face her, she uncharacteristically and warmly slipped herself into his arms, and he rested his cheek upon the top of her head, the wet red hair cradling him, the beat of the shower sluicing down their bodies.

"Turn around" Her soft voice broke the reverie. "I'll wash your hair."

He shot her an unintelligible look before turning, exposing his broad back to her once more, and Ginny reached up the grab at the shampoo, feeling it cool and heavy and creamy in the palm of her hand before reaching up –

"You're too tall, Lucius."

He stunned her when he wordlessly bent to his knees in front of her, still facing away from her body, and slightly inclined his head back toward her chest. Ginny couldn't believe that Lucius Malfoy was on his knees before her, but she spent few seconds mulling it over and instead lifted the heavy mass of his hair with her free hand, pulling her fingers through it repeatedly until she saw the incline of his shoulders relax and loosen.

She lathered his hair carefully, watching as the soap fluffed up into creamy bubbles, running her fingers strongly along the skin of his scalp.

Lucius let out a low moan.

"Too firm?"

He shook his head.

"No – no. It's good. It feels good."

"Good." She kneaded at him methodically, working the lather down to the ends of his hair, focusing around his ears and the front of his hair. She watched as her hands moved through the slicked light strands, the soap oozing up from between her fingers, white and thick.

"Rinse."

He stood, turning to face her, tilting his head back to let the water begin to wash away the suds.

That was when Ginny slid to her own knees in front of him. With his head leaned back and his eyes closed, he didn't notice the change in her position. When she wrapped her lips around the head of his penis and sucked lightly, he did, however, realize what she was doing.

"_Fuck_ –" Ginny looked up at him from below. "Christ. Christ – I'm sore."

She released him long enough to answer. "I'll be gentle." Running her tongue firmly up and down the sides of his length, she maintained eye contact with him. "You realize that this is one of the only things we haven't done – that you haven't let me do yet?"

"It's –" Ginny slid him back into her mouth and reached a hand up to cup his testicles, pulling at them gently and feeling his knees flex almost imperceptibly in reaction. "It's startlingly intimate – for me." She slipped him back into her mouth as far as she could, feeling him nudge against the back of her throat, and he swore under his breath. When she slipped him out from between her wet lips, silvery strings of saliva trailed between them.

"How long has it been?" Her words were slightly garbled.

"Too long." Lucius exhaled and looked down at her. "Take me in your mouth again." His hands went to her head, gnarling in her hair, and Ginny laughed and then allowed him to push her forward, sucking the ridged top of his cock between her lips, gripping the base of him firmly as she began a firm, wet rhythm, the tight circle of her right hand sliding along what she could not take all the way into her mouth. Boldly, she reached her left hand up to tug at his testicles again and Lucius thrust violently into her mouth, making her eyes water. She did not mind. "Again." His voice was tense and deep and she pulled again at his scrotum before pulling him out of her mouth completely and sucking all the way down his length to bat at his testicles with the flat, hot part of her tongue.

"Fuck, yes." As his scrotum tightened with the pleasure of it, Ginny sucked each of the heavy balls into her mouth completely, letting each one warm against her tongue, covering them with her saliva. He exhaled then, petting absentmindedly against the back of her head. "Good." His voice was nearly crooning. "Yes." She continue to play with his testicles, bestowing minutes and minutes of attention on them, languidly stroking at his length with one hand as she did, letting her fingers twirl around the swollen head. She traced the seam along the middle of his sac with the tip of her tongue and felt his thighs twitch. She pressed the strong, nimble fingertips of one hand against his perineum, stimulating the lethargic nerve-endings there, and he swore, repeatedly, under his breath.

"Enough." She looked up at Lucius. He was leaning back against the shower's tiled wall, his mouth pressed into a line, his breath coming hard through his nose, his length heavy and hot and angry in her hand.

"Tell me what you like, Lucius." Her voice was earnest. "I want to do for you what you do for me, and I can do that best if you tell me exactly what to do." She smiled.

"Back in your mouth. As far as you can." The two of them began a slick routine, Lucius directing her to his distinct preferences and Ginny complying as best she could, sliding him as far back in her throat as she could without gagging, running her fingernails up and down his legs as she sucked firmly on him, scraping her teeth gently against the ridges of his crown.

"Faster." She complied, saliva dripping down her chin, mingling with the water of the shower, still beating hot down on them, Lucius with his knees slightly bent, thrusting firmly into her mouth as she knelt deferentially before him, her lips parted and compliant. She moaned softly around her mouthful and smiled as best as she could up at him, and his back bowed.

"Ginevra – God – God –" The rest of his words were lost into the spray of the shower as his thighs tensed, his head falling back, a deep groan rent from him, and Ginny pulled up off of his cock just far enough to catch the hot, thick spurts of semen that shot from him. His come was on her tongue and dripping from the corners of her mouth, and she looked up at him, her lips open, showing him that she accepted the offering, the hot and viscous fluid in her mouth, and as he gasped – only briefly, only so softly – she swallowed it, her tongue swiping at the stray rivulets around her chin.

"It's good." She remained on her knees, looking up at him.

Lucius suddenly and unexpectedly dropped to his knees, breathing heavily, pulling her to his chest and kissing her, the taste of him mixing and swimming between their mouths.

---

As they sat, leaning against the shower wall, still face-up under the now cooling water, she turned to him.

"We have to leave."

He looked at her, understanding. The world would not stand still for their relationship any longer. It was time to go back to England.

---

**my serious apologies to any readers i have - this past month has been busy enough, but these past few weeks have been taxing - dealing with some things out of my control and doing a lot of weird crying. i churned out a chapter for you so that you wouldn't think that i had abandoned this. you guys keep me going! read on.**


	18. Chapter 17

The trip back was uneventful. Ginny had returned to her flat to keep up her correspondence and to water the plants, throw out the rotting fruit from her windowsills, send in journal articles that she had been working on prior to the trip. The newspaper seemed pleased enough with having her work from home. There had been a few letters from her mother – replied to with due diligence and enough vagueness to keep suspicions at bay – a few letters from Hermione and Harry – replies scribbled back on scraps of paper, begging off from invitations to dinner and lunch because of work – and various newspapers left at her doorstep.

_Malfoy Heir Back In Country_.

She shoved the papers aside with a foot, telling herself to remember to burn them later. She couldn't think of him now. Instead, she packed an overnight bag.

---

"You're back faster than I had anticipated."

Lucius, sitting in one of the wingback chairs in his library, now had a lap full of lithe young woman, Ginny being looped loosely around his body, kissing softly at the corners of his mouth – which, she noticed, were slightly upturned.

"Do you mind if I stay?"

"I would have you move in if you would do it."

She shook her head.

"I wouldn't."

"I know." He palmed her back, her buttocks, kissing her back once. "I have to go off to a meeting for a short while. I'm not sure when I will be back. The bed is turned down." He seemed tired, but Ginny thought that it was maybe just the stress of traveling. Or maybe he had seen the headlines as she had seen them. Had Draco contacted him? She left Lucius lift her and deposit her back in the chair, watching the broad back of him stride off, out the door, and then the Manor was quiet.

---

Ginny was still in the library, trying to organize a pile of books that Lucius seemed to have left on the floor next to his desk. She picked up a tome on the ancient histories of the oldest Pureblood families, sighed lightly, tried not to be impressed by the beauty of the book or the intricacies of the words inside.

_Honour_. It really was all about honour and tradition, about respecting the family and maintaining the blood ties. So what, then, would happen about Draco? She was scared about that – scared about what would happen when it all came out, scared of the devil within Draco and the greater devil within Lucius, and what would occur when both of these devils released themselves in anger and in honour-fueled rage.

She hadn't heard the library door open.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were seeing my father?"

The voice made her freeze, her blood roiling and rollicking inside of her, her heart pumping a startling throb. Ginny stood straight and stayed facing away from where the voice was coming from –

"My father, Ginevra."

And he had never called her that before, never really used the formal version of her name. He had always referred to her using pet names and nicknames, shortened, loving versions of the formal name she had been given.

Draco was leaning against the doorjamb, and she could see even from the distance the way his jaw was clenched so tightly she was afraid his teeth would shatter from the pressure of it.

"My father. My father." He was repeating himself and then his arms dropped down from where they were crossed and he looked so defeated and so childlike that Ginny felt a swell of compassion and sadness boil up in her.

"Draco – I never… not during us, never. That's not why I dated you and I never did it during… didn't think – god, I thought of you, I always thought of you –" she was babbling but she didn't care.

Draco's jaw ticked and his eyes looked glassy as he moved off from the doorway and walked closer to her.

"Gin –" and the word was so full of anguish, such high-pitched grief that Ginny couldn't help it – she reached for him and pulled him to her and he fell to his knees, taking her with him, and she ran her fingers through his hair. "Fuck you. Fuck you." His words were whispered and vitriolic but still she held his head, pressing into him. He pushed up, raising his head, and he grabbed at her upper arms, shaking her hard. "_Fuck you_!" The words were screamed into her face and still she didn't flinch.

"Draco. You're hurting me." He held on still and squeezed harder yet and Ginny knew that there would be bruises, and then all of a sudden he let go, exhaling hard. "Draco –"

"_No_." The word was green and black with hate and anger. "No. You and my father. My _father_!" The last word was yelled at her and Draco scrambled to his feet, backing away from her.

That was when Lucius returned.

When the door of the library opened, Ginny closed her eyes for a moment in fright and in acceptance of what was to come. Draco stiffened, his spine incredibly straight, and didn't turn around to see who was at the door, instead remaining facing her. His expression was furious and his face pale.

She couldn't see Lucius as Draco was standing directly in front of the door, eclipsing him.

"Draco." And this time the name was not from her but was from Lucius, the low syllables rolled into the battlezone. Ginny watched as Draco's eyes, too, slipped shut for a moment and she wasn't sure if he was struggling to keep from running to his father, or to keep from crying, or to keep from screaming at him as he had screamed at her.

Draco finally turned and Ginny could no longer see his expressions.

"Father." The epithet was spat out like shrapnel.

The two of them stood, silent and still, just a few feet away from each other. The moments were thick and hot and Ginny watched the two of them, unsure of what was to happen, unsure –

Suddenly Draco moved, fast as a whip-stroke, and Ginny watched as his fist connected with Lucius' nose, Lucius standing unmoving and almost expectant, and then the blood came, red and spattered and flung across Draco's knuckles and smeared down Lucius' face, and Ginny still didn't move. Draco stood in front of his father, panting slightly, staring, staring, and Lucius stood stock still, the blood streaking down his lips and chin, staining his shirt and the tips of his hair, and then Draco turned. The look that he gave Ginny was so anguished and so heated that she started to cry silently, and when he finally strode out of the room in silence, leaving the both of them immobile, only then could Ginny let out a gasping, long sob.

She didn't know how long she lay there, fallen back on the ground the moment the door closed, but she felt exhausted and listless. When she finally turned her head to look, she saw that Lucius had not moved either except to lean against the wall, his body sagging. His nose was still oozing slowly, and the red was exceptional.

"Oh, Lucius." The urge to help him overrode her own self-pity, and she pushed to her feet, staggering over to him and pulled him toward the couch. He did not speak but allowed her to lead him. When she sat him down, Ginny grabbed his handkerchief and pressed it to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting his head, coaxing him to take over the task of holding his own nose.

"I'll clean you up a bit." When she came back from the bathroom with a moist towel, he was still bent over on the couch, holding his face. "Sit up, please." She hoped that her forced cheerfulness would not expose her raw insides.

Lucius lifted his face up to hers and for the first time she met his eyes. They were full. If he blinked, it was possible that tears would fall. Ginny dropped the towel in shock. She knew he was not crying about the pain. She placed her hands on both sides of his face and moved in to kiss him, nudging his own hand out of the way. She didn't care that his blood was smearing now onto her own face. She could taste it as she kissed him hard, trying to impart onto him strength and affection and power.

When she pulled back, she grabbed at the towel that had fallen to the floor.

"Please." He closed his eyes and moved his face, acquiescing, and Ginny gently cleaned all of the blood off, removing the ruined shirt, scrubbing at the ends of his hair. She wiped at her own face, too, removing his red from her skin.

"Ginevra."

"Lucius. Lucius." She ran her hands through his hair, pressing across his scalp.

"Oh, god." Lucius' voice was strained and nearly broke in the middle, and Ginny bit her lip and made as if to move away, but he reached out, eyes still closed, and pulled her onto him, cradling her body against his bare chest, her head tucked under his chin.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered the words into his chest and he gripped at her harder.

"Don't be."

---

She had ran them a bath, helping Lucius into it, concerned about the way he was leadenly moving, face dulled and devoid of major emotion. Ginny situated herself behind him, leaning him forward, kneading at his back softly, combing his hair with her fingers, sliding her hands up and down his shoulders. She tried to be as physically close to him as possible, pressing her slicked skin up against him as often as she could, trying to warm him.

Lucius sighed softly in front of her as she resumed the rubbing of his back.

"That feels good."

"Good."

They didn't really need to talk, and Ginny layered her mouth across the skin she was touching, feeling the warm wet of the bathwater against her mouth. The water around them was so hot that both of their skin was turning blushed and pink, and the heat was helping Lucius' muscles loosen under her hands.

He leaned back against her, sliding farther down in the tub so that the back of his head rested against her bare breasts. He still said nothing, breathing quietly, and Ginny resisted the urge to crane her head to try and see his face. She didn't want to know if he had tears in his eyes. She didn't want that image to conflict with the powerful, beautiful image she had of him.

"Try to sleep." She murmured the words into his ear, and he shifted in acquiescence, settling against her.


	19. Chapter 18

"What are you doing?"

Ginny looked up, dripping some of the green icing on the back of her hand.

"Oh, bugger. Shoo!"

Lucius raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head down slightly to stare at her. "Did you just _shoo_ me? This is my kitchen."

"I'm making… I'm baking – it's green – hush! Get out of here!" She leaned the icing-coated spoon back, holding it with one finger. "I'll shoot. I'm armed."

Lucius looked at her for a minute.

"Why are you in a good mood?"

"So cynical, Lucius." She let the spoon down, her mood deflated slightly. "I'm just baking. I wanted to make you dessert but you woke up and spoiled that surprise, unfortunately."

"Hm." He made a non-committed sound, placing his hands on the counter top and leaning forward slightly. "You made this?"

"It's not hard, Lucius." She turned her back to him as she stirred the icing again, trying to re-mix the colour. "It just takes time." She looked back over one shoulder. "How are you?"

He looked at her, scrutinizing. "Why are you baking me something?" He had skirted the question completely, and Ginny turned back around, setting the bowl down on the counter.

"You slept for nearly twenty-four hours straight."

"I was tired." He had his poker face on, and Ginny shook her head slightly, looking back down into the bowl that was on the counter between them, examining the green rime alone the lip.

"How are you?" She repeated the question, firmer, keeping her eyes on the bowl, tracing a fingertip along the edge listlessly. When he didn't answer, she looked up. Lucius was staring at her thoughtfully, silent still, and Ginny dipped her finger into the icing and pulled it out, licking it off, meeting his gaze.

This was how it was with them – they often just looked at each other, gazing, staring, anything, eye contact, sometimes searching each other's faces for subtle meanings and nuances and tics, sometimes just wanting to look at the beautiful lines of the faces.

He watched her as she slid her finger out of her mouth, sluicing the sugary icing around in her mouth. When he still didn't answer, she picked the bowl up and crossed the kitchen, turning her back to him once more, setting it down on an opposite counter. Ginny began to stir again.

She could hear him shift behind her, moving across the kitchen floor.

His hands came down lightly on her shoulders, and Ginny let her eyes slip shut, her back to his front.

"Not now."

She nodded at his words, understanding.

When he moved next it was to grab at one of her hands, holding it lightly in his right one, and, directing her fingers, he swirled her index and middle fingers in the icing, bringing her hand then up to his mouth, sucking the tips of the fingers between his lips.

Ginny sighed and leaned back against him, feeling the absolute scorching heat of him against her, solid and heavy and _there_.

"It's good."

His words skittered across her shoulder and she smiled.

"I know."

He put his own hand in the icing this time, tracing his sugared fingerprints across her bottom lip, tilting her head back by cupping her chin in order to kiss her, hot and wet, mouths aligned awkwardly and yet perfectly.

"I just need to sleep. I don't know for how long. Are you fine with that?"

His voice was quiet and low and Ginny nodded, feeling his warmth slip from behind her as he left the kitchen.

She put the bowl of icing in the fridge.

---

She sat in the chair, feeling the warmth of the fire against her left side, and she watched as he shifted underneath the covers. Ginny had read in the library for a few hours after Lucius had left, but had been distracted.

And now –

And now she was sitting, her legs curled under her, as she watched him sleep. He was on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly and deeply and methodically, his hair bound back into a tight fishtail braid, his lips parted slightly.

It was nine at night.

She was worried – the excess sleep scared her. He had only emerged from the bed in the last twenty-four hours to use the bathroom – and to visit her in the kitchen.

_But you did that too –_

And she had, she had curled up in on herself for those three days at the beginning of it all, after Draco had left, after Lucius had fucked her across his desk, and she had stained all of her sheets with his black ink. It had taken her days to scrub it out of her fingernail beds, the tips of her hair, the lines of her ribs. She understood the need for that drugged, hot kind of sleep – the kind without dreams, without movement.

Lucius was still, his chest the only part of his body moving.

He looked nearly corpse-like, supine and long, the black covers over top of him like some sort of shroud, the stark white of his face and hair glowing against the linens.

She rose from the chair and padded softly over to the bed, her steps measured and determined and light, her palms resting along the edge of the bed as she swung a leg up and over, peeling off her nightgown mid-movement, hearing the soft _whump_ of the material hitting the carpeted ground. Kneeling on the bed beside Lucius, clad only in a pair of underwear, she slowly and carefully moved back the covers, revealing him, naked in sleep, moving to sit astride him, not resting her entire weight on his body.

He shifted slightly in sleep, exhaling.

Ginny moved her hips against him, feeling the length of him still soft. Tilting her head back, she carded her fingers through her hair, feeling the rough curls against her lower back, teased the tips of her breasts with one hand until they were hard and aching. She could imagine Lucius' hot, wet mouth sucking at her, those straight, sharp teeth biting and pulling until she cried out –

Her hips moved a little more roughly and she felt him begin to harden beneath her, pressing hotly against her. Ginny tilted forward slightly, pressing her clitoris more directly against his erection, keeping up the slight grinding motion that she had established.

She trailed her lips along his neck, along his jawbone, reaching his slack lips and kissing them, sliding her tongue between them.

His hands came up to clamp her hips.

"Wait – wait." She leaned back up, watching his muzzy eyes as he pulled himself out of sleep. "Just one – one moment, Lucius." She was so wet – he had to be able to feel it through her panties, against that rigid erection that she was rubbing against – she was so close, so close –

Ginny arched her back, placing her hands on his thighs, pushing her breasts out as she came silently, her stomach clenching and relaxing methodically. Before she could raise her head back up, Lucius had lifted her silently and had slid her underwear off, setting her feet on either side of his hips. She looked down and saw him holding his length in one fist, directly beneath her, and Ginny slid down, taking him into her.

As she did this, he released himself and lay back into the pillows, bringing both hands up above his head, rumbling a stretch out.

Ginny didn't speak but instead began to move, balancing herself still with her hands on his thighs behind her, sliding back and forth across his pelvis, hearing the slick and smooth sound that he made as he moved in and out of her. She looked down at him and his eyes were alternating between her nipples and the movements of her breasts, and the juncture between her legs, the sweet wetness there. Ginny closed her eyes and hung her head back, increasing her pace

"Stop." His voice was breathless, and he sat up, lifting her off of him. "Turn around." Ginny obeyed, turning so that her back was to his front, and he folded his arms around her stomach as he thrust up into her, simultaneously pulling her hips back down onto his length. Ginny made a noise partway between a grunt and a keening sigh, and Lucius pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck.

"Up onto your knees." He moved behind her, raising both of their bodies up to kneel lowly, and moved his hands down from her stomach, one knifing between her tightly closed thighs and the other spanning a buttock. He began to move them rhythmically, pressing deeper and deeper into her with each smooth, languid thrust.

Ginny let her head fall back onto his shoulder and watched as the white and red of their hair mixed into snarky curls. She let her eyes close, concentrating wholly on the feeling of the solid, hot wall of flesh behind her, the soft smack of Lucius' upper thighs against the underside of her own.

His mouth was wandering, sucking hot circles down her neck, across her shoulders. The hand that had been cupping her buttock came up to pull alternatively at her nipples, and Ginny turned her head so that he could kiss her. Their mouths met at an awkward angle but the kiss was so furious and so wet that neither cared.

"I'm going to come." His voice was low in her ear, and Ginny tightened her inner muscles, wordlessly encouraging him. "I want you to come, too." The hand between her legs teased at her clitoris relentlessly, and Lucius pressed hard into her on an upstroke, as hard as he could, deep as he could, and Ginny cried out, her hands flying down to grab at his thighs against her own. As she continued to come, Lucius made an unintelligible sound against the shell of her ear, and she felt the heat and viscosity of his own release come in waves.

She sat back on him, feeling his length soften inside of her, the quicker motion of his chest now, pressed against her back, one hand still stroking between her legs.

"Lucius –"

The hand continued to press into her, and Ginny's body tensed again, her orgasm coming in groups of waves and roils, his fingers still against her until she had to plead with him to stop.

He pulled his hand out from between her legs, teasing the wetness across her breasts and up her throat. Ginny unseated herself from him and turned between his legs, facing him, sitting back on her heels.

"How are you?" The question repeated from earlier, but this time Lucius was sucking his own fingers into his mouth and it wasn't icing, it was her arousal across them, and she saw the fast flash of a muted smile before he reached out to grab her head and kiss her.

He pulled back, and she could taste the saltiness of herself.

"I'm sorry if I scared you."

Ginny shrugged, lying back on the pillows. "I did it too. After we had sex that first time. I slept for three days straight."

Lucius lay beside her on his side, watching her quietly.

She turned on her side too, meeting his eyes.

"Draco –"

He shook his head, his eyes closing. "I don't want to talk about Draco."

She was quiet for a moment and then spoke again, softly. "Do you think he will ever…"

"I don't know."

"Is he going to tell people?"

Lucius turned over to lie on his back, his mouth tightening, shifting subtly out of her reach. Ginny moved over, holding her upper body overtop of his own, looking down at him.

"Lucius, I'm not ashamed."

"I'm old enough to be your father. I can't give you what you want. Do you want children? Do you want that perfect home life?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know. I don't really care right now. But I'm not ashamed. I'm just scared of the attention it will bring, and how violently some people will react. I'm scared of how my family will react, Lucius. They are so unpredictable. And my friends – Draco shocked them enough. This is going to – the damage – it might be irreparable. I'm not shirking away from this, but you have to realize what I have on the table here. What I am risking. It's a lot." She bent down and took his earlobe lightly between her teeth.

Lucius sighed and looped an arm around her waist as she turned into his side.

"I know. I don't know if he will tell people. I don't know what he will do."


	20. Chapter 19

"I have to go back to work. For the paper."

Lucius looked over at her, still holding his cup of tea.

"Just for a short while. They want me to actually be in the office. And they want me to teach some bloody seminar on flying." She dragged her toast through her eggs.

"Why won't you move in here?"

The question startled her and she looked up at him. He was holding his newspaper, nonchalantly scanning the business section.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Ginny shook her head. "I told you that I still wanted to keep my own flat."

"You can still keep it. I can make the monthly payments on it if you would like."

"Not appropriate, Lucius. I'm not a mistress." She set her teacup down on her saucer with an audible click, staring at him from across the table. Lucius sighed and set his paper down as well, meeting her glare.

"I never said you were a mistress."

"Kept woman."

"Nor that. You are being childish."

Ginny ground her teeth and closed her eyes. "This is a stupid argument."

"You are being the immature one."

"Just because you are so much older than me doesn't mean –"

Lucius glared at her. "Thank you for reminding me of your age. I'm old enough –"

"– To be my father. I know. Twenty-seven whole years older than me." She smiled a vitriolic smile at him. Lucius nearly snarled at her but instead kept his hands evenly spaced, flat on the table, and compressed his mouth into a thin line. He had forgotten about her temper and her stubborn streak. Ginny looked at him for a moment more and then shook her head, sighing.

"We shouldn't be fighting. At the moment, it's us against the world, as trite as that sounds. We should be allies." She stared at the tabletop as she spoke.

"Then why won't you move in to the Manor?" That would be the last time he spoke – he assured himself of that. It was enough to have to ask the question twice. He was sick of feeling needy for her.

"I can't." She whispered the response, still looking down at the table, tracing her fingers along the placemat.

"Go to work." He had resumed looking at his paper, his eyes down. Ginny's mouth fell open at the dismissal.

"Fine." She walked quickly out of the room, ripping her coat off of the coat hook in the hallway, and Apparated away. Lucius stayed still, staring at his newspaper, tea getting cold.

---

Ginny worked a wooden day, numbly filing and typing and exchanging the stale office pleasantries with her work colleagues, fielding awkwardly asked questions about her break up with Draco, deflecting any prodding questions about her personal or romantic life.

When she had a break after lunch, she sat at her desk and stared blankly out the window. She was desperately attracted to Lucius, and liked his voracious nature, his keen mind, the all-consuming way he looked at her, the all-consuming way he touched her, fucked her, wanted her.

Could it be enough? There were twenty-seven years between them. He certainly could be her father. And if she ever wanted a family – if she ever did want children, would he be prepared to have children with her? At fifty-two, he was not so old. He still looked younger than his age but he had already had that life – he had had the picture-book wedding, the one pure scion, the parties, the birthdays, the nappies, the nights up with the colicky baby, everything.

And the Manor – it was all too much all of a sudden. Being in that place, all of the time – calling Malfoy Manor home – it would break her family's heart if they were to ever find out. It would make everything very, very real and scary and immediate. She would be living in one of the places that had fostered such hatred against the Muggles and the Muggleborns and everyone of mixed blood. Could she do it? Could she live under that roof?

She sighed and sipped at her tea, drumming her fingernails on her desk.

---

Lucius was in his study, looking over the paperwork for his newest donation to the hospital.

She had turned everything in his life upside-down, and he wasn't sure if he was liking or hating it.

He hated being alone in the Manor. It was dusty and anechoic and too silent for his tastes. It had been so long since he had had a proper interest in a woman since Narcissa left, and now that he had Ginevra he wanted to keep her, to never let her go, to have her for himself for always.

But if she wanted children – if she wanted that gauzy, white wedding with all the trimmings – if she wanted the wedding portraits and the four children – or seven children, or more – he wasn't sure if he could do that again. He felt old and decrepit. She was so young and so virile and lithe and lovely, all pale, taut flesh and thick hair. And when she had mentioned the age difference over breakfast that morning, he had felt sick to his stomach. What if she wanted someone younger – someone more like –

His son.

Lucius pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to ease his throbbing headache.

---

When Ginny ended her workday, she headed for her own flat instead of the Manor. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see Lucius, and she also wasn't sure if he wanted to see her after what she had said that morning.

She had been half-expecting a note when she got home, but there was nothing. No flowers, no letters, no apology, nothing. Ginny sat down on her couch and pillowed her eyes with her palms, tears pricking at her eyelids.

She made dinner spiritlessly, drinking from a bottle of red wine, staring out her murky kitchen window at the purple-storm skies. Lightning sliced across the thunderheads, across the horizon, and Ginny smiled for a moment, appreciating the showmanship of nature's power. It was good to be reminded of true power every now and then.

She sighed and put her dishes in the sink, resolving to wash them the next morning, and dragged herself to her bedroom, shedding her clothes like an old skin, trying to rub the smell of the workplace off of herself. Her bed seemed chilly without the broad body of Lucius behind her, but she wrapped her nightgown around herself resolutely and fell asleep.

When Ginny awoke next, it was not morning. The room was still deeply dark, and she had gasped awake, unsure of what she had been dreaming about and unsure of what had roused her.

When the corner of her room moved, she stifled her scream and reached for her wand, holding it out in front of her with one swift movement.

"Don't you fucking move." The light from the end of the wand illuminated the figure, and from beneath the hood of the robe she saw snarls of long blond hair. Lucius looked back at her steadily. "Lucius? What the hell are you doing here? You just scared the shit out of me." She dropped her wand to the bedspread and her face fell into her hands. She began to cry.

The bed beside her sank.

"I couldn't sleep without you." His words were as close to a whisper as they could get.

Ginny lifted her tear-tracked face and looked at him. "What?"

"It's three in the morning, and I've been awake all night because I can't sleep without you."

"My wards – how did you…"

"Your Floo is still open to me." She stared at him for a watery minute, and then moved into his arms. "I'm sorry, Ginevra. I'm very sorry. I told you I was a stubborn old man and that I was set in my ways."

"You're not old." Her voice was soft and garbled. He began to lean them back, lying on her pillows. She slung a leg over his two, tucking her pelvis into him, one arm flung across his chest, fingers toying with the ends of his tangled hair. "I'm so sorry, too. You're not old. You're magnificent. I walk by younger men and I think of you because I have never met a person who can hold a candle to you – your voice, your shoulders, your mouth" and here she brushed a palm over his lips "your legs, your prowess in bed, your smarts." Ginny sighed against his neck. "I don't want to be typical. I don't want to be trite. You shake me to the core."

Lucius ran his hand soothingly up and down her back, hearing her sobs quiet. "You aren't typical." When she moved her face up to look at him he kissed her lightly. "We won't be typical. That is, I suppose, what scares me so much. I can't predict the future about us – a family? A wedding? I don't know."

"It's alright, Lucius. I'm sorry about the Manor. The place still scares me somewhat, and if I move in there, things become very real very quickly."

"I understand."

"Lucius?"

"Hm?"

"Let's not fight. Let's try not to fight."

"We are both very stubborn, Ginevra."

"I know." She pressed her mouth to his neck. "I like that about you, though. You don't back down from challenging me."

"Never."

She smiled against his skin, her eyes closed. "Look at us. We look like some colourful form of marital bliss." Her voice was soft.

"We aren't married." His voice was soft, too, and low, rumbled against her.

"That's fine. I just mean that if someone were to see us right now – right now – we would look so contented." He laughed slightly, and Ginny felt it through the arm she had across his chest.

"Considering we just had a very stupid argument, I find that amusing."

"Shut it."

They lay quietly for a few more minutes.

"Can you sleep now?" She was whispering, gently kneading the muscles of his chest with the flat of her hand, and she could feel the deep, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath it.

"Yes. Thank you. I _am_ contented." Ginny kept her body pressed against Lucius until she felt him slide completely into sleep, and only then did she allow herself, too, to slip from consciousness.


	21. Chapter 20

She stayed most of the nights at Lucius' house, curled beside him in his bed. Now, most mornings, she woke up with his arms coiled around her waist or torso, one of his legs between hers, the sleepy, clear morning light seeping in from around the curtains.

One early morning, however, the banging woke her up.

"What –" Ginny raised her head from the pillow, her hair tangled around her face. There was a banging coming from somewhere in the Manor, possibly the front door. She looked around wildly, seeing the empty bed beside her. Lucius was – Lucius was –

Lucius was standing beside the bed, his hair unbound. He was tying up his dressing gown.

"Here. Put this on." He threw a second robe at her, and Ginny slid it on, slipping out of bed.

"What's going on?" She was scared – it felt like an invasion, like the war, like all of her bad memories come back to mock and needle, and she unknowingly started running her hands up and down her forearms. Lucius shook his head slightly, looking down and exhaling.

"It's fine, Ginevra."

"What time is it?"

"It's five in the morning." He ran a hand over his chin, absentmindedly feeling the pale morning stubble. Ginny's eyes tracked the movement of his fingers. "This happens sometimes."

"What does?" The banging was getting louder and she could hear muffled shouting. "Is that the front door? Lucius, what is _going on_?" Her voice got harsh and fraught.

"It's happened before." Lucius looked away for a moment before cinching his robe belt tighter and looking back at her, his face impassive. "It's a group of Aurors. Occasionally I have been – disrupted – by them." Ginny kept staring at him, her mouth slightly open. "They say that they are here on business – that I'm a person of interest and that they are monitoring – sometimes it's about artifacts that I used to own – or still do… but it really just gives them an excuse to push me around and periodically invade Malfoy Manor."

"Oh." Her word was a soft puff of air. "How many times has it happened before? Harry never mentioned anything about that –"

Lucius visibly flinched. "I should hope that your precious Potter wouldn't discuss this with you – or anyone." Ginny shook her head, wanting to explain to him that that wasn't it, that she and Harry hadn't talked in a very long time, that she was just wondering aloud, but Lucius started speaking again. "Three times before this. It has happened three times before this."

Ginny tilted her head to one side.

"And they will be wondering why I haven't answered the door yet. It would be best for you to leave. Go back to your flat. I'll let you know when it's over, but sometimes it takes hours. Nearly a whole day."

She nodded.

"Go." He was looking around for his slippers, and Ginny hesitated for another moment. Lucius looked back up at her, his eyebrows drawing together. "Go!" This time his voice hit a harsher note, and Ginny started into action, wrapping the dressing gown tightly around her body and hurrying over to the fireplace. She stopped only to grab her clothes from the ground. The last thing she saw before stepping into the hearth was Lucius silently braiding his own hair, pulling it back tightly behind his head, the leather tie held between his lips. He wasn't looking at her.

Nine hours later, Ginny finally heard back from Lucius.

---

He was sitting in his desk chair, pressing a cold compress against his mouth, head down as he wrote – Ginny squinted her eyes – wrote some formulae across the parchment in front of him. That was Lucius – reverting to crunching numbers and accounting when he was stressed.

"What happened?" Ginny's voice was soft and yet incredibly, frighteningly loud in the velvet still of the room. Lucius showed no sign of having heard her. She stood in front of the desk, watching as he finally and slowly raised his head and set the compress down.

"I walked into a door." Finally getting a decent look at his mouth, Ginny stifled a sound in the back of her throat. His upper lip was swollen, quite obviously split open at some point in the previous hours. It looked as though he had been clipped in the mouth with a very deft fist. "I'm icing it before I let Balius tend to it. Bringing the swelling down helps with the accuracy of the healing." He lifted the ice again, pressing it back to his mouth, looking back down at his work on his desk, subtly signaling her to leave him.

"Did they–"

"Enough, Ginevra." His tone was clipped and he was looking back up at her. "It's done."

"Was it Harry?" She knew that needling him like this was a bad idea, but she had to know – had to know if Harry had been involved, if it had been Harry who had struck the blow, hitting hard as Lucius stood impassive and fierce and proud, absorbing the hit, not crumpling, stoic, stoic –

"Ginevra." His voice was rock hard now, glittering. "I've had a trying enough day and I really, _really_ would prefer not to discuss this." The rage was there, simmering perfectly beneath the surface but controlled beautifully. She wanted to lance the boil, to let his rage escape; she could be the yielding body.

"No – I want to talk about it."

His eyes narrowed and she swallowed, but took another step towards him.

"I don't."

"Then – then –" Oh, this was so stupid, what she was doing, provoking him, but she continued on. "Then don't talk." Ginny smoothed her hands down her back and over her bottom, letting them linger across the span of her buttocks for a few seconds too long, directing her gaze to Lucius' own hands, and watched as he watched, his eyes tracking the movements of her palms owlishly.

There was a moment where both of them breathed, evenly, calmly, staring at each other, sizing the situation up, and then Lucius made his move.

"Come here." His voice was measured and deep. When she didn't move right away, Lucius cocked his head. "Don't make me ask twice, Ginevra."

Ginny still didn't move, partly nervous about the floodgates she was about to open and partly unsure of what Lucius was planning. He narrowed his eyes at her, and reached forward, grabbing at her wrist and yanking her around the desk. She had to follow the force of his pull, head moving back like a spineless rag doll, and she ended up beside him, standing, as he sat, pushing his chair back from the desk.

"Lucius –"

"Checkmate. That's your word. Your safe word." Before she could say anything else, he had yanked again on her wrists, sharply pulling her over his lap, her legs not quite touching the ground, her eyes open and staring, stunned, at his office carpet. Lucius pulled brusquely on her pants and she heard the button pop as both they and her underpants came down around her knees, effectively binding her legs together.

The first smack surprised her and she instinctually and fiercely struggled to get away, bucking her hips and clawing at his thighs with her fingers. Lucius ripped her hands away from his legs and pinned them behind her back, holding them in his own left hand. He smacked her buttocks again and Ginny hissed and tried to bite his thigh, partly sinking her teeth into his skin.

"Oh, you little _shit_." The incongruous nature of his colloquial words almost made her laugh, but then he adjusted his legs under her and hit her again, harder.

She had lost count of the number of times he had spanked her, and after a few minutes of futilely struggling she had lain mainly still, reacting to each of the hits with a grunt or a hiss. Lucius was walloping her with nearly full force, each of his smacks hitting her with a full, open palm. Her skin was burning, and tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes unbidden.

Finally his arm slowed, the slaps lessening and lightening, and eventually he ceased movement, keeping one palm on the burning, blushed skin of her bottom. Lucius released her wrists. Ginny used the back of one of her hands to dab at her mouth, brushing over her eyebrows, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Lucius was breathing heavily above her, the movement of his stomach against her side. She was panting too, staring at the carpet, unwilling to move.

They sat like that for a time, both allowing their breathing to slow. Ginny shifted slightly, brushing her breasts against his thigh, and Lucius seemed to jolt back into consciousness, drawing in a deep, open-mouthed breath almost as if he were emerging from water. He reached down and propped her up, sitting her on his lap, putting them face to face.

Ginny blinked and grimaced as her wounded flesh came into contact with his hard thighs, and the tears that had cloistered themselves in her eye spilt over, wetting her face again.

Lucius looked gravely at her.

"Are you – I'm –" And he seemed to be wordless, exhaling through his nose and closing his eyes for a moment. He wiped the tears off of her face using his handkerchief. "Say something."

Ginny caught at the hand with the hankie, pulling the square of cloth out of his grip and tucking it into her bra. Holding Lucius' palm toward her face, she kissed it, closing her eyes as a cat would, flicking her tongue out to taste at the hot skin between her lips.

"Did I help?" Her voice was raw and heated but strong as spider-silk. "I wanted to make you feel more like the master of your domain."

Lucius looked, agog, at her for a few seconds.

"You needled me on purpose?"

"Just because I thought you wouldn't – you wouldn't want to – otherwise – I didn't mean to trick you, Lucius." Ginny was shaking, her body slipping into a state of shock, and her teeth began to click in rhythm. "I hope –" She slipped into a faint, falling forward on his chest.

---

Ginny woke up, blinking blearily into the darkened room. _Where_ – she looked around, and spotted the blinding white hair she was searching for. Lucius was sitting on the window seat, reading, his hair pulled into a braid and reading glasses set low on his nose.

"Lucius?" Her voice was rusty from sleep and as she was pulled more and more into consciousness she realized that they were in his bedroom – she was dressed in one of his button-up shirts – _the one he had worn today_ – and it smelled like him, deep and spiced.

He looked up at her.

"How are you feeling?"

"I can't believe that I fainted. I've been hit in the ribs by Bludgers before. I've even sustained a broken femur. But for some reason – I can't believe I fainted. I'm sorry." She felt awkward, like the conversation was stilted. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, looking back at her pensively.

"Lucius, I'm sorry that I provoked you like I did. I just wanted to try something…new."

"You –" He seemed breathless. "You are apologizing – _you_ – to me? To _me_?"

"Yes. You seem off. I figured you were upset with me."

He moved quickly, pushing up off the window seat and settling on the bed next to her. Ginny looked up at him, her eyes still puffy from the tears and the sleep, the collar of the shirt dipping low and open, exposing the white curves of her breasts, and Lucius almost laughed out loud at her belief that she had been the one in the wrong.

"I'm more upset with myself. I shouldn't have struck you in anger. I broke the number one rule. I overdid it. I over-taxed you."

"No – I needled until you struck me in anger. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. Just because I can accede to you being the master of your domain in specific areas of our life – the master over me, at times – doesn't mean that it will be that way all the time. But that's what I wanted. I wanted to feel your palms on me." Ginny smiled almost shyly at him and reached up to undo the leather tie that was holding his hair in place, carding her fingers through his plait-kinked hair. Lucius closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasure of the touch.

"I lost my temper. That is why I am 'off.'" Lucius looked at her. "I don't deserve you sometimes."

"It's not like you to truly speak candidly about your feelings. Did I do the wrong thing?"

"No." Lucius ran his hand up and down the lengths of her legs. "I just appreciated the gesture today. The sacrifice you made for me was monumental. I know what a – spirited – and independent person you are. To be bent over my thighs would be a big accession for you."

Ginny caught at his moving hand.

"It was."

Lucius smiled and kissed the back of her hand, moving his mouth to her inner wrist, licking softly at the tender skin there.

"Thank you."


	22. Chapter 21

"My family is wondering."

She had come to see him after work – still wearing her trousers and her blouse and vest. Ginny tended to dress in an extremely masculine manner at work, preferring to take attention away from her female assets and instead to her knowledge and her experience.

"Why are you dressed like a man?"

She had gone all out today, wearing a tie that she had looped into a Windsor knot, a proper waistcoat, a pair of long slacks. The only thing that she was wearing that was vaguely feminine was her pair of spike heels.

"This is how I dress for work, Lucius." She looked at him, exasperated.

"You look like me."

Ginny laughed then, uncoiling her hair from the tight bun at the back of her head, shuddering slightly as it fell around her shoulders and she ran her fingers through it, kneading out the kinks from the day.

"I do look like you. But I've always dressed like this." She sat down on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted and utterly, delicately forlorn for a moment, sitting leaned forward with her forearms on her thighs, her legs open like a man's, head tilted forward so her hair was obscuring her face. "They are really wondering. They are wondering and they think I am seeing someone new. And I am." She looked up at him.

"So tell them."

Lucius was on the window-seat again, a book open face-down beside him on the cushion. Ginny looked at him for a hard, gleaming moment.

"They will try to kill you. You know that, don't you? They will try to murder you."

Lucius tilted his head, reminding her of a bird again, and smiled small and subtly. "Ginevra, I've had experience with that." She juddered, closing her eyes, reminded of the war and the tearing apart of the families, the loss. "I don't mean to remind you, but I used to be a fighter back in the day." Suddenly, as if reminded of his age, Lucius looked away from her, his face darkening with a cloud of a look, and he picked up the book again, wordlessly leafing through it.

He noticed her thighs first, solid and lithe, in front of him, directly in his line of vision. She laid her hands on his jawbone, roughly tilting his head back up to look at her.

"You must have been a Berserker, Lucius Malfoy." He stared silently back at her. "You must have been glorious in mid-strike." Her eyes softened for a moment as if she were recalling or imagining something. "That hair like a bloody halo – around your jaw line – arms out –" She smiled slightly, mentally regaining her hold. "_Hm_." Ginny exhaled a soft sound and sat beside him. "How long have we been together now, Lucius?"

She felt him shift beside her.

"Three months?"

"Three months." Ginny softly set her head down on his shoulder and felt as one of his hands came up to card through her hair.

"Are you happy?" His voice was a vibration against the side of her body.

Ginny turned her head and looked up at his face. "Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes –"

"Why?"

Her voice had been low but he had heard it. Lucius shifted again and looked down his nose at her, jaw tightening for an instant. Ginny seemed to sense his discomfort and glanced up again, her eyes soft around the corners.

"I'm scared, Lucius."

"Scared?" He subconsciously tightened his arm around her.

"I have to tell them, and it has to be face-to-face, and I'm legitimately scared that they will lose their tempers and do something awful. Something rash. Storm the Manor, maybe. Try to keep me away, physically restrain me from coming back. Keep me in their houses. Hurt you. Hurt me. And we've only been together for three months. I'm happy. You fit very well. You fit very, very well, and you make me happy, but I can't do this – this confession to my entire family – if this relationship were to be nothing less than very serious." She slid off the window-seat, coming to sit up on her knees in front of him. "Do you know what I mean?"

Lucius looked at her for a very long moment, his brow slightly creased and his eyes narrowed but not cold, not shrewd. In the beats of that time, Ginny felt her heart dance wildly and haphazardly. Had she offended him? Frightened him?

Finally, he spoke.

"Are you suggesting marriage?"

Ginny nearly fell forward.

"No." She shook her head earnestly. "We've discussed this before. I don't need the paper – the title – to make anything official. That's another reason why my family will kill me – this living in sin business. Never mind that they think you are the devil himself." She smiled crookedly. "I wasn't hinting at that, Lucius." She placed her hands on his knees, meeting his eyes earnestly. "I wasn't. I know you don't want to marry again and I would never put that pressure on you. If you say – if you just _say_ – that you will stick with this, and that you won't give up on anything – won't let the stupid spats or the fights get in the way, won't let me get too angry with you, won't let yourself get too angry with me – if you just say that to me, I am fine with that. Really." Ginny smiled.

"I say it, then."

"Pardon?"

"I say it. That I won't give up on it." Lucius was bent over, one hand loosely around her neck, his forehead close to hers. "That I won't let you break any of my antiques in your terrible anger. That I won't let myself lose my temper with you too often. That I won't let those inane arguments get in the way." Ginny closed her eyes but continued to smile as his thumb traced up and down the tendons of her neck. "That I will find you attractive. That I will continue to take pleasure in your body – with your body – for as long as I can" He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth.

When she arched up into him, Lucius slid off the seat and pushed her back to the floor, sinking his weight on top of her pliant body. Ginny reacted immediately, widening her legs and allowing the sharp arc of his pelvis to settle in between her thighs. Her hands came down and she pulled up her skirt. Lucius couldn't even bring himself to fully remove his trousers – instead, he unbuttoned the placard and slid inside of her, moving slowly.

She was so wet – as though she were constantly in a state of readiness for him.

"It's you." Her voice was low in his ear and his hips moved involuntarily.

"What?"

"I'm always like this. Wet. No underpants. Because of you – it's being around you that does it to me."

Lucius wondered, for a moment, if she were capable of reading his mind, but when she closed her eyes and nuzzled against his neck, moving her hips up into his, he responded in kind, following the earliest biological pace without even realizing it, starting a slow and meaningful rhythm. He could hear the slide of their bodies, of him disappearing into her, the aural evidence of her arousal making him harder, harder –

Ginny moaned and drew his head down to hers, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and tracing her tongue along the edge where lip met skin. She kept her eyes open as she kissed him and Lucius stared back at her, aroused by her brazenness and the fact that she was watching so intently.

"Yes – please – please –" She reached to the back of his head, her hands feathering across his occipital skull, and when she found the ribbon holding his hair back, she tore it out, flinging it behind her. His hair hung down around their faces and she tugged sharply on it, along with his thrusts. "Please, Lucius – please –"

He reached down and roughly adjusted her legs, drawing them up and around his waist. He had wanted to bend her double, drape her legs over his shoulders and screw her into the carpet, but, looking down at her, gazing back at him and begging him like that, he had abruptly changed his mind. For some reason, Lucius needed to feel the grind of her skin against his – wanted the intimate weight of full body on body.

Her thighs locked around his waist and she crossed her heels at his back.

"Yes. _Yes_."

He was still mute but she was whispering her encouragements into his ear, alternately speaking and then biting along his lobe, tracing the pathways with the tip of her tongue, making her way down his neck. When she reached his lips she stopped, remaining just a breath away, and instead looked back up at him.

He couldn't look away – damn her. Damn her. He had to look at her – for some reason, she was impossible to look away from. His hips sped up and Ginny looped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself.

"I want to feel you come inside me." Her words were murmured against his lips but when she said them he gasped onto her, jaggedly thrusting a few more times and then falling completely onto her waiting body as he came, the thick fluid hot and willing. Lucius' head was buried into the carpet beside her face, his mouth at the crook of her neck, and Ginny still had her arms around him, her hands tracing lines up and down his back. "So good." The words made him shift once more, feeling the last twinges of arousal leave his body. "Thank you."

Lucius pushed up off of her, brushing her lips with his. "You didn't come. I apologize."

Ginny laughed, then, pushing his hair back from his face and kissing him again. Lucius pulled out of her and she sat up, sitting beside him with their backs against the bed.

"It feels good, you know."

"_What_ does?" He sounded suspicious.

"You – coming inside of me." Ginny ran her hand up and down his thigh. "It feels like you're marking me as yours. When it drips out of me throughout the day. When I smell like you – that scent. I like it – being marked as yours."

"You're so deviant." He spoke his words into her hair. "When will you tell them?"

"Tomorrow, I think."

"Ginevra – thank you." Lucius was looking at her intently, and Ginny kissed him on the shoulder. "I realize the sacrifice you're making. The Malfoy families were never as expansive or as close knit as the Weasley families. I realize how frightening this must be."

Ginny sighed.

"I'm very scared. I'm very scared, Lucius. But I've always been a bit of the dark horse. I don't know how they will react, considering you were the one who slipped me the diary. There is still so much that you and I need to broach, you know. To talk about. There is so much that we haven't hashed out. We need to make a sort of peace. But the first step in that process is being honest. Draco knows, and I think it might only be a matter of time before the secret is out. They have to hear it from me before they hear it from anyone else." She stood, brushing off her skirt. "I think I'll go now."

Lucius stood up beside her, placing a hand on either side of her face and kissing her. "When will you be back?"

Ginny gave a small smile.

"Tomorrow night, maybe. I'll be going to see them during the day. Please keep the Floo open."

Lucius nodded.

---

The sound of crying woke him up.

Lucius had been asleep in the master bedroom when a sort of soft sob – a gasp of a thing – had roused him from his fitful slumber. At first he had been confused – still being drawn out of the treacle grasps of sleep, still cotton-headed, but his instincts kicked in and he was upright and holding his wand in a few quick seconds. Still naked from bed, he eschewed clothes but instead followed the sound to where the cracks of light were coming from around his bathroom door.

"Ginevra?"

She was standing at the sink, wearing her slip, her clothes balled on the floor by her feet. He couldn't see her face in the mirror because her hair was hanging down, but he could see the delicate and shattered movements of her bird-like shoulder blades, the way her skin was patched with red and white, her fingers curled on the counter top.

"Did you just get in now?" He almost cringed at the sound of his voice – a sort of breathy mix of horror and softness.

"Yes." Her voice was flat and clogged, as if she had been crying –

And he noticed the drops on the counter – drops that, at first glance, could have been mistaken for water, flung from wrung out hands reaching for a towel – but at second glance were unmistakably tears, salted, hot, shed in desperation. He wanted to step towards her but was so horribly uncertain – uncertain if she could still want his touch after what she had obviously just been through with her family, uncertain if the disapproval of her blood ties could sever their own tie.

"And?" His word was actually whispered.

Ginny turned, then, and shook her hair back from her face, and Lucius started. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot – she had been crying, those had been tears – and she had a red handprint stark across her right cheek, the deep colour in sharp contrast with the waxy white of the rest of her face. It must have been a woman's handprint – maybe her mother, maybe one of her sisters-in-law. Lucius met her eyes then, and saw that her day must have been awful, awful, awful.

"It went badly." She whispered too, her words breaking on the floor between them. "It went badly. As bad as I thought –"

He moved rapidly, gathering her into his arms as she began to cry again, and he felt the wet of her tears against his chest, the salt tracing down his skin. Ginny let herself crumple against him, and Lucius hefted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed and sitting them down, perching her on his lap as he rocked her slightly, crooning into her ear.

"I'm sorry, my sweet heart. The sins of my past have come back to haunt you, the innocent. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The only one who should be responsible for that is me."

Ginny had her arms around his waist, her face against the skin of his neck, and he could feel the tender meat of her body, the sharp delicacy of her bones as she sobbed and sobbed, the action making her body wrack.

Lucius held her for a long while, his large hands spanning her back, sliding under the straps of her slip and pressing to her feverish skin. He kept his head over her shoulder, his eyes closed, and continued to rock her slightly back and forth, pulling her into him. She began to quiet after many minutes had passed. Eventually, she became silent, and he unhooked his chin from the tendons of her neck, looking down at her.

He didn't say anything.

"My mum hit me." Her words were hoarse and garbled. "She was the one who slapped me. And the rest of them –" she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand – "Ron broke things. He broke lots of things. And Dad just sat there, silent. He was so silent. And then there was Harry – Harry shook me until I was sure that his fingerprints were on my skin. And my mum hit me. She called me a Death Eater whore and slapped me so hard that I had to hold onto the table to keep upright. And I didn't cry in front of them. Did you know that? I didn't cry once. But I came here and I saw you asleep and I started to cry."

Lucius felt as though his throat were swollen, his heart swollen, his lungs hurting. He kissed the top of her head and marveled at how tiny she seemed in the basket of his arms. Ginny was so sinewy, so strong, but at the moment she was fragile and broken.

"You can cry. That's fine, sweet." Lucius shifted back on the bed, lying down and pulling her back with him, and Ginny curled into his side, winding her arms around him again. She sighed and Lucius watched as her eyes closed.

"She hit me. They might hate me now, Lucius. Maybe not Bill. Maybe not George. I don't know. I don't know. I can only give it time now." Her voice trailed off into a whisper and Lucius rubbed her back in long strokes as she drifted off into sleep.

He lay awake for a long while, staring at the ceiling, and he couldn't figure why his eyes were full and smarting.


	23. Chapter 22

Lucius had slept poorly, waking up during the night to check on the young woman curled at his side, monitoring her slow, deep breathing. He hadn't felt this responsible and caring since the days of Draco's childhood, when either he or Narcissa used to drag themselves out of bed in the middle of the night and have to rock and walk the baby in order for the infant to fall back asleep. Lucius remembered it well – the pacing up and down the hallways, the warmth of his son against his chest and shoulder, having to tie his hair back because of Draco's propensity to fist it in his little hands.

He wondered if that would work with Ginny – just holding her in his arms and rocking, feeling the warmth of this bodies transmute, held between them. Lucius brushed a hand through her hair and she shifted in her sleep, turning towards him and burrowing into the heat of his torso. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, feeling her sigh.

It was startling, the feelings he had towards her. Even as she subconsciously moved near to him in her sleep he was affected. She was so broad in her understanding of him and all of his shortcomings – didn't force the idea of marriage upon him, held off his insecurities, offered her body as a canvas to him when he was feeling impotent and frustrated in his endeavours. Ginny rolled closer and murmured something, and Lucius smiled slightly, tightening his hold on her. She hadn't even complained about his initial inability to hold her during sleep, but she had adapted. And he had adapted. Lucius had adapted.

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. It was early morning – the grey and watery light was edging around the curtains, and he could begin to see the edges of Ginny's face. He looked down at her, appraising.

She was an interesting form of pretty. Her face was more angular than soft and feminine – her cheekbones were cut sharply, almost like his were. In fact, there was much in their faces that was similar. Sometimes, when she was angry and when she tilted her head to one side, he was reminded of both his son and himself. Her skin was almost translucent, especially with the wan dawn light playing across it. He could nearly count the sparse, pale freckles across her nose – freckles that he didn't always notice.

Lucius traced a thumb over her mouth, following the lush curve of her lips. While her face was sparsely curved and mainly angular, her mouth was full and pillowed, the lines in her lips defined and deep, the sweet bow of her upper lip and philtrum subtle and feminine. Lips ebbed into more pale skin, and the harsh line of her jaw, down to the strained, swan-like white of her neck, and then down to the sinuous cords of her body. The only softer parts of her physique were her breasts and her inner thighs and her hips. Everything else was all lines and muscle, toned and tall.

She was his match. He realized that as his eyes greedily took her in – the exposed slope of her breasts from under the covers, the one slender leg thrown over his hip, the absolute warmth coming from between her thighs, the subtle movement of her lips as she breathed in and out of sleep.

And she had sacrificed such an amazing amount. Lucius felt that odd, hard swelling in his throat again, felt as though his lungs were aflame, felt floored and shaken. She had told her family – had risked their rejection, their anger. She had weathered that for him. He had dealt with Draco, but that was the majority of his troubles. She had done so much more.

"Staring is rude." Her voice was rough and low, and Lucius startled, meeting her eyes coolly.

"I've heard."

They looked at each other for a moment. He was unsure of what to say to her – after last night, after the horrible night she had had. The handprint across her face had faded completely, but her eyes were still puffy as if she cried herself through the night.

"I feel off," she started, and then stopped, looking up at the ceiling, sighing, dashing a hand across her eyes, frowning, looking, frowning. "I feel deadened. I don't feel. Do I feel?" She looked at him, almost panicked, her eyes hot, and then she looked back up at the ceiling. "I don't know. I don't know."

Lucius levered himself out of bed.

"Take your time. I think you might need to be alone for a while. I'll be in my study."

---

The soft footfalls that he had come to known as hers and only hers were hesitant and yet also strong, also determined at the same time. He didn't look up until he heard them stop, and when he knew that she must be near.

Ginny was standing in front of him, holding his formal black leather belt. It was a thing of beauty, it was. Long and thick, with a good, weighty heft to it – made of butter smooth leather, dyed deepest black, with a heavy silver buckle. Lucius looked briefly at what she held in her hands and then trained his eyes up to her face. Ginny's eyes were full but her face was calm, and in that moment Lucius understood. She was not asking to become his permanent submissive, not asking to be collared or to play games, but she was acceding and now, wordlessly, asking him to play an active part in the healing process. She wanted to be removed from the reality of the situation for a short while. She wanted to pass control onto someone else. She wanted a sliver of real, physical pain in order to deal with the mental and emotional pain she was also coping with.

"The belt?" His voice was quiet and low.

"It's a good mental picture – you, arm up, wielding it…" Ginny trailed off and blinked, two tears running down her face, as she looked up and beyond his head.

"This is going farther than just spanking, Ginevra."

"I know." She looked serious and willing, and as he silently appraised her, deciding if she was fit for what he was planning to do, she smiled slightly at him.

"I'm going to act differently."

"I want it."

"It's going to be harsher than you –"

She cut him off, throwing the belt into his lap, her eyebrows knitting together. "Goddamn it, Lucius. Are you going to do it or not?"

Her needling worked. He stood up and threw the belt onto the divan, grabbing her around the waist and backing her up until she was leaning against a smaller, four-legged table.

"Turn around." His face had become that impassive blank slate that – she suspected – had helped him go so far in his Death Eater days. Ginny searched the corners of his eyes and the lines of his face for a moment, her pupils tracking the subtle tics around his mouth and jaw, but she didn't express any displeasure, and instead turned around, resting her weight on her hands on top of the wooden table.

"Stay there." He disappeared for a moment, but she didn't dare move, instead waiting for him to return. "Put your chest down on the table." She did so, and felt him move up behind her. "Spread your legs. Reach out and grab the opposite legs of the table with your hands and _do not let go_." Ginny shuddered and did as he asked. He deftly cuffed her ankles to the back two table legs with – with? – with thick leather cuffs. He has obviously gone to retrieve them. Moving in front of her, he did the same thing with her wrists.

Ginny instinctually tried to struggle against the bonds, testing them out as she wiggled her wrists. They were solid.

"Don't move." His voice was low near her ear, and she stilled immediately, turning her face to the right and resting her cheek on the old wood of the table. She felt something cool sliding under her skirt, along her thigh – she realized, as she heard a tearing sound, that Lucius was cutting her clothes off, and the cool thing she felt was the blade of an extremely sharp knife. One rip from between his large hands and her skirt fell to the ground, ruined. Another flick of the knife and her underpants came off. The blouse was merely torn off with his hands alone, and the bra undone and extracted from beneath her body after the straps had been sliced.

She let out a sound of arousal as she felt the cool wood against the skin of her chest.

"Be quiet." Lucius was somewhere farther behind her now, seemingly still, and Ginny got the feeling that he was simply sitting and watching her. In this position, she was completely spread out for him to see – between her legs, between her buttocks, all the way down to her ankles, her feet, her hands hanging limply. She imagined him sitting in his wingback chair, becoming harder and harder just by watching her, and she the blood rush to between her own legs. She moved her bottom an inch –

"Be still." His voice was measured as always. Ginny stilled.

Time passed. She heard the scratch of a quill across paper, and she realized that he was doing work, probably sitting at his desk, even while she was naked and spread out for him. She couldn't see him – was facing a wall, actually – but she could sense him behind her still, placid and calculating.

More time passed, and she was beginning to get cramps in her legs and feet. She was considering opening her mouth to say something to him, but before she could consider exactly what to say, she heard movement behind her. Suddenly she could sense him standing closer to her, and she stilled again, listening intently.

The soft _wap_ of something let her know that he probably had the belt in his hand and was probably tapping it lightly against his thigh.

"You are not to be silent _now_. I want to hear your sounds as I strike you." There was a snake-like sound, and she realized that he was pulling the length of the belt through his fingers, savouring the feel of the leather, testing the weight of it. "Twenty."

Before she had time to breathe, there had was a slick crack that echoed in the room and Ginny physically jolted forward as much as she could despite being tied to the table. She gasped for a breath, and then the blooming streak of pain set her backside on fire. She cried out while trying to intake air, and the sound that resulted was a barking, tortured sort of thing. The pain was deep and so hard that she could feel it traveling up her body to claw at her throat and gag at her mouth. The second blow came before she truly recognized and acknowledged the first hit, and the sound that she made was even more torn and ragged.

She could hear Lucius starting to breathe heavily behind her already, the effort of hefting the belt taking its toll on him.

The rhythm that was established was a primal one. The sound of the wet cracking leather mimicked his heavy breaths and the heavier steps that he took on each swing. Ginny's alto moans and cries were the harmonic overlay, the rattling of her cuffs as a result of her fists clenching a percussion, the breathing through her nose a coda. They were blazing out a new type of music, a symphonic thing, and around the tenth stroke Ginny's mind erupted into a blaze as she realized how exquisite it was. Her vision became silvered and sharp, and the cries turned into mainly low, wrung out moans. Her throat was tired, and her mouth was dry, but as Lucius rounded into the fifteenth stroke, she stopped rattling her arms and lay still, accepting the more painful stripes across her upper thighs, the crease where leg met buttock.

When he finished, he threw the belt down in front of her on the floor. Ginny stared at it, unfocused, and began to concentrate on getting her breathing back to a normal pace. She felt Lucius uncuff her and rotate her wrists with his own hands, coaxing feeling back into her fingers. She felt him release her legs and run firm palms up and down her calves and ankles, urging blood back into them. She could hear him inhale deeply as he knelt behind her, kneading her thighs, face-to-face with her arousal. When he ran hands over her welted bottom, she hissed slightly and shifted, and awareness was forced back into her, her vision clearing, her mind's brilliance turned back down to normal.

Lucius lifted her from the table, and Ginny's legs stuttered for a moment before she righted herself.

"That was good." Her voice was a whisper, and Lucius braced her by placing his hands on her hips, avoiding the reddened skin. "Thank you." There were tears running down her face, and she sniffed quietly, leaning forward to kiss him. Lucius could taste the salt on her mouth, and, as he felt her shudder slowly in his arms, he shrugged off his dinner jacket, wrapping it around her. Ginny smiled tiredly and sagged into him. "Can you take me to bed, please?"

They made a different sort of love that night, Lucius spanned out on top of her, running his hands through her tangled hair, fingertips dancing reverentially along her hips, Ginny groaning at the abrasion of her bottom against the sheets of the bed, one long leg draped over his shoulder, her head moving slowly from side to side. She felt as though every sensation were heightened, the two of them moving languidly and in a drugged manner, and he felt as though every motion were more significant, as if their coupling was some sort of ritual, some sort of wonderful thing. Lucius took care to move meaningfully inside of her, each motion of his body thought-out and elegant, and when she came she clutched at his shoulders and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, crying his name like a mantra.

Lucius fell asleep still inside of her that night, and Ginny made no motion to stop him.


	24. Chapter 23

Lucius woke up and sensed immediately that she was not in the bed with him. Sitting up, he looked around the room, running fingers through his snarled morning hair.

"I'm over here."

Her voice was sateen and smiling, and Lucius eased off his search for a moment, turning his head in her direction. She was—where was she?

"Behind the curtains." Ginny seemed to sense his confusion and the heavy brocade curtains that cloaked his bedroom window rippled as she spoke.

Lucius blinked for a moment. "What are you doing behind there?"

A soft laugh sounded from behind the fabric. "Didn't you ever do this as a child? Stand behind the curtains and press your face to the glass? You can pretend the whole world is nonexistent when you stand here. The curtains are behind you and the outside is in front of you, and you are shrouded." Her head popped out from behind the drape and he saw that she was standing on the windowseat. "Also, I can't sit today." She was smiling slightly and he found himself smiling back. She was most definitely still sore from the striping he had given her yesterday.

"How is your bottom?"

She hopped down and sidled out from behind the curtain, turning around to face away from him. In a swift movement she pulled her nightgown up around her hips, showing Lucius his handiwork.

He had done well. The belt's heft had left wide, blushing streaks across her buttocks and upper thighs. Most of the hits were lined up parallel to each other, with the tiniest amount of white skin in between. A few stripes were layered on top of each other, criss-crossed in an obscenely arousing pattern.

"Looks good." His voice was rough.

She dropped the skirt and turned around, climbing onto the bed and pushing her way to sit behind him, her long, white legs on either side of his body.

Lucius frowned. "You seem rather happy today."

"Are you frowning right now? I saw your ears move." She smoothed her fingers over his brow from behind him, and then laughed. "So suspicious, Lucius."

"You know that I am naturally suspicious." He sighed and leaned back against her. "My former career, unfortunately, made me that way." Her body didn't stiffen behind him as he had anticipated it would at the mention of his darker past. Instead, she kept up the soothing rhythm of her fingertips across his forehead.

"I know you're suspicious. I feel better today. I feel sad but I also feel lightened. I know that telling my family was best, and I'm scared about the consequences, and I'm scared that they will hate me forever, but I also feel like I did the right thing telling them. I feel like my chest isn't so constricted anymore." She kissed his temple, and Lucius raised his eyebrows at her display of affection. "You're making a face again—I know it. Stop that. You're so cynical!"

Lucius smiled, then, and rested his hands on her thighs, using her as a sort of armchair. "Do you mind if I read the paper?" Ginny shook her head, and he reached to the bedside table, grabbing the Prophet and unfolding it, settling back into her as she absent-mindedly ran her fingers through his hair, pressing lightly at his scalp and feathering her fingertips over the skin of his neck and temples.

As he was reading, Ginny read, too, over his shoulder, softly commenting on affairs and articles that she found interesting or disturbing. Lucius would answer her distractedly, but would engage in conversation until the page was turned and a fresh wave of news was brought forth onto them. Ginny relished the weight of his body against hers—it had taken her so long to get to this point, to be able to coax him into relaxing around her, to stop being so formal and so icy. She had had to be exceptionally understanding and exceptionally resilient.

"It's a good thing we have," she murmured, and he agreed immediately.

"Yes." He set the paper down and tilted back to look at her. "I care for you very much."

"Same here."

"Your eloquence is charming, as per usual." He opened the paper back up, but Ginny could see the lift of his ears and knew that he was probably smiling.

"I wanted to ask you—"

"Yes?" He set the paper down again.

"Can we go out?"

Lucius turned his torso far enough around so that he was able to see her face to face. "Out?"

"There's a ministry ball coming up, actually. For Samhain."

"I forgot that it was All Hallow's eve so soon. What with the warm weather lately."

"Me too." She was quiet for a moment, resting her chin in her hands and looking at him. "I want to go with you. I know you've been invited. I got an invitation, too. It was forwarded from my flat the other day. We've been mainly alone and I like it very much, but I don't want people to think that I'm hiding you away somewhere because I'm ashamed in any way." Her voice became quieter and she looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I'm not ashamed of you, but now that we've told people, it will start leaching out into the wizarding world, and the rumours are going to be amazingly vitriolic. Amazingly. They are going to say awful, awful things, Lucius. But I want to have that trial by fire—"

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I think we should go together. I had saved the invitation." She raised her eyebrows at him and a slight flush bloomed over the sharp edge of his cheekbones. "Well, I was going to ask you, actually, but then the whole situation with your family and—you were so upset—I wasn't sure—_what_?"

"Do you want to come dress shopping with me?" Ginny had a cheeky grin on her face and laughed silently as Lucius pulled a face.

"I'd rather not. But I'm sure you'll look lovely no matter what." He turned back to the paper.

Ginny hummed against his ear. "You say the nicest things. But you don't even realize you're saying them. You just let them slip."

Lucius murmured an assent, again wrapped up in the news, and Ginny kneaded absentmindedly at his shoulders, thinking.

---

The thing of it was—it had been truly difficult to pick out a dress that wouldn't be inflammatory in any way. Ginny had originally veered toward the green colour scale because of the contrast with her hair, but had shied away from that when she realized that she would essentially be dressing in Lucius' colours. The two of them coming out together to a huge ministry event was going to be provocative enough without her dressing as a Slytherin.

She had then wanted to wear red because of her love for the colour, but had also veered away from that, nervous that she would upset Lucius with her Gryffindor display. She wanted to support him, not alienate him.

Therefore, she had also ruled out silver and gold. Blue was an option, but wasn't her personal favourite. Yellow was a definite no. Purple looked interesting on her because of her hair, but she couldn't find a hue that suited her properly. Black was boring, and orange was useless. Grey and brown were awful, and anything flesh-toned made her look naked, which, while it might have been appreciated by her escort, would definitely not be appreciated by any of the ministry officials, least of all any of her family who would see the pictures from the night.

Eventually she had settled on white, originally scared of the colour because she was afraid that Lucius would see it as another attempt to steer him toward an altar. But the dress she found was so sublime, so elegant, that she quite simply had to have it.

Dressing for the ball had been a nervous affair, too. Lucius had wanted to know the colour of the dress so that he could match her, but Ginny hadn't wanted to let him know before he saw it, which made him tetchy and then made her flustered. Eventually, she had just told him that "black and white would _fucking_ cut it", and he had clicked off to his closet in a temper. She had had to rely on the house elves to help her get ready, which had been amusing since Balius was old and male and was clearly not really used to helping a young woman slither into a clingy dress and then help her with the myriad of fastenings and drapings. Lucius had stayed in his room for the entire remainder of her dressing, and she hadn't heard hide nor hair of him—not while she slicked her lips with colour, not while she combed her hair back and while Balius helped her twist it into a tight pull, not while she slid on her silver stiletto heels, not while she stood in front of the full-length mirror, sucking on a barley sugar sweet and feeling it click around her teeth and mouth as she surveyed her appearance.

---

"Ginevra?"

Lucius was outside the door. Ginny could just picture him, one hip slightly cocked, rapping on the wood with one knuckle and looking impatient and haughty. She had put him into a fit of pique with her earlier yelling, and had regretted it immediately but hadn't apologized. Both of them were extremely tense about the upcoming party, and both were coping in different ways. Ginny had been raising her voice throughout the entire day. Lucius, alternatively, had been speaking less and less, showing his anger through heavy boot-steps and flaring nostrils.

"One moment. One _moment_!" Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears, and Ginny winced. She cleared her throat and spoke again, lower and smoother. "I just need to put one last pin in my hair."

She could almost hear him exhale on the other side of the door, standing silently. She was sure he was impatient, was taut with nerves and residual anger, and all of a sudden she felt the absolute urge to look perfect—she had to look perfect for tonight, for him, for the duress they were about to endure. Looking at her reflection, she wiped her sweaty palms on her dressing gown and willed her fingers to stop shaking, to still and not betray her frayed, electric nerves.

"Okay. Okay. Come in."

When she heard the door click open, she turned to face him.

Lucius froze mid-step, and his torso pulled back as he stared at her.

Ginny had her hair pulled back into a tight, coiled bun, everything slicked down, the sparseness of her hairstyle showing every hard line, every striking feature of her face, the pale height of her forehead, the sheer delicacy of her ears, the road of her jaw.

She was wearing a floor-length white dress, the top gathered over one shoulder, edged in silver, the waist pulled from across one side of the ribcage down to the other hip, diagonally, still outlined in silver. The material followed the curve of her buttocks and her thighs, only loosening and dropping to the floor in loose pleats at around her knee. As she shifted from foot to foot, he could see the slit that traveled up the front of the dress, ending at her lower thigh.

"I didn't want to wear evening gloves. Is that alright?"

He watched her lips move but didn't really hear her, noting the fine blush across her cheeks, the spare make-up, the defined eyebrows moving as she spoke, the length of her bare white arms against the crepe of the dress. As she moved, the light hit the silver accents and she seemed illuminated.

"I know it's white. I'm sorry if it's too much like a wedding dress, but nothing else really—"

"It's fine."

Ginny blinked at his abrupt tone. Lucius coloured and cleared his throat.

"I mean—what I mean is that you look—you look perfect, actually." She gave him a shaky smile. "I've never seen you dressed like this. I'm sorry for my lack of speech. You look like an Amazon. Hippolyta."

"You've seen me in formal wear before."

"That gold dress was _nothing_ like this."

Ginny blushed. "You remembered what I was wearing that night you asked me to dance with you?"

Lucius moved closer. "Of course. I remember. I remember wanting to pull down the bodice of that piece of gold frippery you were wearing and layer my teeth marks across that fine, pale chest. I remember wanting to rub you up against me on the dance floor so that you could feel how hard I was. I remember—" and here he moved behind her, laying his hands on his shoulders, marveling silently at how soft she felt, how she shook slightly as his fingers spanned out "—I remember wanting to bend you over the formal dining table and take you in front of everyone." Her eyes had slipped closed—he saw it in the mirror, and he lowered his hands, brushing the backs of his fingers over her hardened nipples.

Ginny inhaled harshly and arched back against him.

"You look perfect, too." She murmured her words against the side of his neck, gasping and placing soft, hot kisses along the pulse-jumping skin there. And he did look perfect—he had opted for a three-piece set, wearing a single button black satin peak lapel with a soft grey vest and an ascot to match, his hair pulled back tightly. "Apollonian. Like we are a set of gods. We look good." She watched him in the mirror as he began to tease her nipples with short, brusque pulls of his fingertips. "Oh no, we can't."

"I want you." His voice was low and gravelly, and she could feel him pressing into her buttocks, hard and hot. "And you've been such a fucking _shrew_ all day long that I'm going to take what I want." One of his large hands slid down from her chest and spanned her stomach, pulling her back into him. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her, and he stared for a moment in the mirror, suddenly struck by the image of his child perhaps carried where his hand was, her body becoming lush and sweet in the softened curves of pregnancy, a new brand of blood child created from the two of them—strawberry hair, angular, pointed faces, grey-eyed and discerning. Lucius became harder at the thought of Ginny as a vessel for his child, and abruptly started to pull up her skirts with his lower hand.

"You'll mess up my dress." They both knew that the argument was weak, especially when Lucius got his hand under the material and she automatically spread her legs for him as his fingers slipped inside of her. He was blanketing her neck with scorching kisses and Ginny knew that if they didn't fuck—if he wasn't inside her soon—they would burn up, and she would be ash and bone, useless. "I'm sorry about today." Her voice was a whisper as she bent slightly forward and acquiesced, murmuring her pleasure.

He walked them forward to her dressing table and bent her forward, flipping her skirts up around her waist and along her back, pulling her underpants down to her knees. Before she could remonstrate, he pushed inside her, his hands on her hips, gripping tightly.

Lucius took her quickly, the jagged, sharp thrusts of his hips betraying the anxiety and stress he had felt all day about the upcoming ball. Ginny watched his face in the mirror as he took her, noting the way he looked down between them at the place where his hardness disappeared inside of her, the way his mouth became fuller and more relaxed as he concentrated solely on this one thing. When she hissed and murmured his name, his eyebrows jumped and his jaw clenched.

When he came, he held himself inside of her as deep as he could, burning her, branding her.

He stood behind her, breath heaving. Ginny allowed him to regain his breathing before he slid out of her and she straightened, pulling her underpants back up. As Lucius looked at her, she slid a hand between her legs, and brought her forefinger back out, wet with his come. He watched her, eyes slightly narrowed, as she brought her fingertip to her neck and marked herself, spreading the dampness behind her right ear and along the cord of her neck.

It would dry, soon, and become invisible, but Lucius realized the gravity of the action. She was marking herself as his tonight. No matter who she danced with or who she spoke with, it was his semen that was giving off the pheromones along her skin. It was his come that was setting her as his own. No one else would know, but he would.

He grabbed her hand and brought the same fingertip to his mouth, sucking it between his lips, tasting the mixture of her and himself. It was stronger than he had anticipated, a salty, thick taste. Lucius withdrew her fingers and kissed her palm, closing his eyes for a moment before fixing her with a determined look.

It was time to go.

"I'm scared." She chewed the insides of her lips.

"I'll be with you all night."

"Will you?"

"I'll try," he replied, tracking a thumb over the skin of her hands, tracing her slight bones. "I'll try to be by your side for the majority of the night." Lucius looked at her for a moment. "I was going to ask you to wear the Malfoy diamonds tonight, but I don't think you need them. You look perfect as you are."

Ginny breathed deeply. "We should go. Get ready for the shutter flashes from the photographers at the gate."

"I know." Lucius looped an arm around her waist, spanning her ribs with his fingers, slotting himself into her. Leaning over, he nosed her neck, around her ear, where she had marked herself, and inhaled, finally placing a kiss against her jaw.

---

**this is the dress that i was picturing when i dressed ginny:**

**/laceandtea/atelier%2807%29_**


	25. Chapter 24

"Oh my _god_."

Ginny resisted the urge to raise her wrist to cover her eyes as the flash bulbs popped with a frightening vigour.

"What the _fuck_?"

She could hear the hissing of the bulbs in symphony with the hissing of the photographers and reporters stationed outside of the gate for the ministry event. The words were mumbled and slithered low and heatedly, and she knew it was because of the man next to her—

"Get a picture of _that_."

—The man who was subtly tightening his arm around her waist as he led her through the crowd of press people, taking care not to appear as though the two of them were rushing through in order to avoid pictures being taken, but making sure that they didn't spend an inordinate amount of time in the media spotlight, either.

"Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley!"

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Mal_foy_!"

The cries of the reporters were almost too much, and Ginny had to fight to keep from clapping her palms over her ears.

"Are you two involved?"

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"Are you, Draco, and Lucius in a triad relationship?"

"Does Draco know?"

"How did your family react?"

"Are you living together?"

"Does Narcissa know?"

"The divorce just came through. Does Narcissa know?"

"What does Narcissa have to say?"

"What does _Harry_ have to say?"

Ginny didn't even allow herself to sway as she continued to walk, not smiling, not frowning, just willing her feet to move one in front of the other, steadily, strongly, guided by Lucius' broad hand.

"Will you kiss for the cameras?"

As they reached the doorway, she threw one last look back over her shoulder, and it was _this_ picture that graced the front page of the society section of the newspaper, the long and lean white line of her body curved into the dark column of his, his arm braced solidly around her slim waist, the insouciant and aquiline profile of her face as she turned back to give the reporters an unfathomable and discerning look. If the public studied the picture hard enough, they could see the soft tracing that Lucius' thumb was doing over the satiny fabric of her gown, the way her hip touched his as she walked alongside him, the determined set of his jaw even from behind.

They were emblazoned in black and white and print from that night onwards.

"What _does _Narcissa say?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she wanted to shrink at the shattered, quiet quality of it.

"She doesn't know—" Lucius was cut off as he pushed a reporter firmly to the side. "Brace yourself."

She wasn't sure if it was him who murmured that into her ear, or the young man at the coat check, or if it was an echo from the reporters outside, or maybe—maybe—it was her own heartbeat, chanting a sort of clairvoyant refrain into the tunnels of her own ears.

She braced.

It was both worse and better than they had thought.

---

Ginny leaned against the bar, balancing herself on her forearms while subtly rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She had shooed Lucius off to chat with the diplomat that had been panting to talk with him privately all night, and after a swift, covert glance, Lucius had kissed her cheek and left her at the bar—which is where she was now. The corner of the room was quieter than the rest of the revelry, and she rubbed at her wrists and forearms as she waited for the bartender to bring her whisky over.

The night had been exhausting. Thankfully, none of her family had been in attendance—she had suspected as much, what with the combination of the recent bombshell she had dropped on them and the effort of getting the many nieces and nephews into tiny, frustrating Halloween outfits. Many others, however, had been in attendance. Ginny had found herself trying to explain her relationship to Kingsley, to previous professors, to prior schoolmates, all with Lucius' arm around her waist. Eventually she just blurred out, using the same script for every encounter, trying to impart onto old acquaintances and complete strangers the gravity and meaning behind her pairing with Lucius. It was exhausting, and Ginny had eventually loosened her arm from his. She figured that if the two of them spread out and explained themselves to people at the same time, they would cover more ground—faster—

She laughed softly at that thought, turning slowly and surveying the room. It really was a beautiful night—no true, close friends of hers present, but many old, warm allies and past mates. Everyone was so meticulously dressed, so lovely, and there hadn't been as much vitriol as she had expected. Yes, the main amount of vitriol had come from her family, and from Draco. Maybe she should have expected that.

But a flash of light blue caught her eye, and Ginny realised that Hermione Granger was making her way across the floor toward her. She hadn't noticed Hermione in the mass of people. In fact, Ginny had expected her to be with Ron tonight, instead of out at something that she was sure the older girl would have considered frivolous.

Ginny looked up and properly met Hermione's eyes as she came to a slow in front of her.

Hermione stared back at her with such a look that Ginny's mouth nearly faltered in its pace.

"Hello, Hermione. This is the first chance I've gotten to catch up with you all evening." Even as she said the words, Ginny knew that they were useless. Hermione had such an expression on her face that she knew that they would not be making small talk—would not be discussing Harry, or the weather, or the dresses at the ball.

"Lucius Malfoy? Really, Ginny?" From a mother, the question could have sounded cartoonish and laughable, but from Hermione it sounded hurt and low and wounded and angry, all such complex things rolled into four solid and plain words.

"Yes—" Ginny tried to answer but Hermione wasn't finished.

"Does he talk to you about his time in Azkaban?" Her voice had hit an intense, low range, and Ginny had to blink in order to keep from dodging backwards, trying to dart between the sharp edges of the words. The absolute heat between them was almost frightening her. The evening had been wearing on her so much that she nearly didn't have the edge to fight back—nearly. Hermione continued. "Do the two of you sit and chat about that? Have you broached the topic of that diary that he gave you? Maybe the pair of you relax in his drawing room—do you remember that room?—and talk about _that_." Hermione drew in a breath as if to talk again but Ginny shook her head.

It was in her nature to fight, and usually she would have tongue-lashed Hermione for daring to be so amazingly rude to her, but she understood where the other girl was coming from—Ginny had seen the destruction she had caused to her own family from telling them about Lucius, and Hermione would be feeling the ripples of that from Ron, as fiercely loyal as she was to him. And Ginny didn't want to fight anymore—the night had wrung her so severely that she just wanted to sit down, or maybe to sleep, or maybe just to lean against Lucius and lull herself with his body heat.

He was watching her from across the room. Ginny could see the blond hair from the corner of her eye. Lucius was leaning against a wall, somehow having now escaped from every single person who had wanted to talk to him. He was holding a lowball of something—something that Ginny rather wished she was drinking right now, because it was bound to be strong and fortifying—and was absentmindedly fingering the cut crystal along the sides of the glass, surveying herself and Hermione. Ginny could sense that he was coiled, ready to move as fast as he could if the altercation became nasty or physical. She shook her head slightly at him, watching as he melted back a little more into the shadow, the resulting shift in light meaning that his chin and jaw were illuminated. She watched as he darted a tongue along his lower lip.

"Hermione."

Ginny spoke the word while still looking over her friend's shoulder, but slid her eyes back to Hermione's face quickly.

"What?"

The word was snapped out, but Ginny realised that the fact that Hermione was acknowledging her was a good sign, and she continued on, nearly weary but needing to express herself.

"He makes me very happy."

"What?"

This time the word was flatter, and Ginny noticed that Hermione's face had gone a little slack, her eyes still having that brightness to them that had been there when the two had started speaking, and which Ginny had originally marked as the result of alcohol but was now re-evaluating as perhaps some form of intense emotion—perhaps tears.

"He makes me very happy." Ginny spoke softly, not wanting to fracture the tenuous détente they had established. She avoided the use of Lucius' name, instead continuing on in her low, soft tone, speaking almost as though crooning to a baby or to an animal. "I wouldn't have risked what I did—my family, my _friends_, Hermione—if I hadn't been happy with him. You have to know that." Hermione blinked, and made as though to draw in another breath, but stopped midway through and instead exhaled, making an odd choking sound. Ginny tilted her head and watched the other woman before finishing up her thoughts. "I don't know if my family will ever forgive me. I can't be anything but honest in this situation, and it's very scary, and I take full responsibility for it. But just know that—that—what you have with my brother—Ron—when he makes you happy, when he makes you sigh—that's what I have." Ginny made as if to touch Hermione on the arm, but dropped her own hand halfway between their bodies and instead inclined her head in a sort of salaam before walking away.

She didn't look behind her.

Ginny could sense Lucius pushing off of the wall where he had been standing, beginning to follow behind her, and so she veered out onto the terrace, allowing herself a moment to breathe, bracing her hands on the stone railing and hanging her head down, forward, relaxing her neck.

It was a beautiful night. The warming charms from the main building extended out onto the terrace, but were tenuous, and therefore the air was a mix of warm and chill, refreshing and comforting. The moon was heavy and pendant, that bloody, candied orange colour that befits the harvest moon, and the glow was casting enough light that Ginny could see beyond the balustrade, right into the labyrinthine green of the gardens, tinted an odd reddish colour by the night and the stars and the cast-off light from the house.

She felt the resonating rumble of his voice almost before she heard it. He was behind her, his mouth on the back of her bent neck, his large hands closing over hers on the balustrade. Ginny rolled her head slightly to one side, allowing him a more unfettered access to her skin. She felt him breathing, solidly and evenly, and was calmed for a moment.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, liking the feeling of his lips tracking across her neck skin as she moved. "Yes. I just feel tired, mainly. Very tired. It's been a draining evening. I'd rather be in bed with you right now." He shifted against her body. "In bed—_sleeping_." Ginny smiled into the darkness of the garden as she felt him laugh, tightening his hands over her own in an action of commiseration.

"I would like the same."

"Why haven't you told Narcissa?" The question spilt out of her lips and she couldn't string the words back together.

Lucius exhaled.

"Are you—is it because I'm just a—why?" She kept talking, looking forward, glad that she wasn't able to see his face.

The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. She sensed that Lucius was picking his words perfectly, making sure that his ideas fit together just right. When he spoke, she didn't draw away.

"I didn't tell her because I just don't care about her. I realise, how, to you, that would seem as though I was keeping you apart from a major portion of my life. It's not that. It's not that I'm keeping the idea of you away from her because I think you are some fling. I'm keeping your idea away from her because we are simply not married anymore. And she is not a part of my life anymore. Draco is an adult. There is no need for Narcissa and myself to discuss things about his life as we would have if he had been a child during the separation." Lucius rested his chin on her head, inhaling. "That's why I haven't told her. She's not pertinent enough to know. Is that fair?"

Ginny nodded, feeling his chin knob into the top of her head as she moved. "Yes. Very." And they lapsed into a warm quiet, Lucius absentmindedly moving his thumbs back and forth across the tops of her hands.

They would have stayed like that, linked into each other like jigsaw pieces, warming each other and watching the Halloween moon hang orange and fat in the sky, if it hadn't been for the gulping intake of breath that they heard behind them.

Lucius moved off of Ginny quickly, coming to stand beside her with an arm solidly around her waist, and Ginny turned to face the person who had made the noise—

"_Harry_?"

And it was – it was Harry, standing farther back on the veranda, looking as though he had just been coming out, sidling away from the party—he looked frozen, one foot a little farther ahead than the other as if he had been walking and had been struck motionless by what he had seen.

And the sound he had made—it had been almost choked, almost a sound of wonder, surprise, absolute shock.

Lucius' arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging almost painfully into the skin, and Ginny realised that this was one of the last people that Lucius wanted to confront tonight, because despite the bravado and the vitriol that he showed towards Harry Potter, Lucius was so exquisitely aware that it had been Harry who had put him back in his place again and again, Harry who had beaten his only son at everything that Draco had tried, Harry who had nearly condemned the Malfoy family, Harry the person that his wife had saved from the Dark Lord, Harry—the man who had been with her before himself, been inside her before himself, been Ginny's love before himself, Harry, his antithesis, Harry, Harry, _Harry_.

Ginny slid a hand up to cover the hand that Lucius had at her waist, glancing at him sideways, seeing the drained and pure white of his face, no colour against his cheekbones, the grim and grinding set of his jaw.

"Say something. Say something," she whispered to him and Lucius swallowed, his eyes narrowing.

"Potter."

Harry's eyes widened when Lucius spoke his surname, but he still didn't move from where he was immobile, a mere few feet away from them.

"Harry?" Ginny spoke softly, unsure of what exactly was flashing in Harry's eyes—she could still read him, even after all of the turbulence they had been through, and even through the lenses of his glasses, even from farther away, she saw something deep and unreadable flash in the green of his eyes. When he heard his name, Harry tilted his head to one side—subtly, very slowly, and seemed to focus more intently on the two of them. Lucius spread his fingers across Ginny's ribcage just incrementally wider.

"Sorry." Harry spoke slowly, shaking his head slightly as if emerging from some thick, sticky fog. "Sorry."

Ginny cocked her head, too, speaking still softly. "For what?"

"For intruding—I suppose."

Lucius shifted next to her and spoke. "What?"

"I—" Harry started and then took a step backward. "I—watched the two of you. Just now. Leaning against the railing." Ginny took a deep breath and Lucius subtly ran his thumb over her dress, making her lean into him. "And you looked—you looked—good." Harry looked as though he were going to gag or sob or maybe even faint, choking on the last word of his speech and then swilling down the rest of the drink in his glass, placing the crystal ware on the ground.

Lucius said nothing. Ginny's mouth parted slightly.

"No-one is going to accept this relationship. You must realise that." Harry kept speaking but was looking up, not quite meeting either of their eyes. "It's going to be a real fight. But—" here he looked back at Ginny, smiling slightly, and Lucius wanted to snap his teeth at him but restrained himself "—but you've always fought, Gin. Ha. That sounds so cliché. God, the two of you are an odd pair. But when I saw you leaning on the railing—touching—each other, I thought that maybe—maybe—you worked."

"Oh, Harry—" Ginny started to speak to him, and still Lucius remained silent, but Harry shook his head.

"Ron would absolutely _kill_ me if he knew I had said that. Most of your family would, I reckon. I should go, anyways." He looked helpless for a minute, his eyes tracking from Lucius' face to Ginny's, and eventually he gave up, nodding his head and walking away before either of them could properly acknowledge what he had just said.

Ginny and Lucius stood for a moment.

"Ironic that our one supporter thus far would be Mr. Potter," Lucius drawled into her ear.

"Ironic…"

"Are you all right?" He asked the question again, suddenly very serious, and Ginny realised that she must have suddenly just been overwhelmed, looked ashen, crumpled in on herself. She shook her head. "Do you want to leave?" She nodded, suddenly reduced to childlike motions, an inability to speak for herself, a massive tiredness. He inclined his head. "I can go get our cloaks—you can stay here if you wish."

Ginny nodded again, thinking that while she really didn't want to be alone, at least the fresh air would keep her from swooning like some maudlin schoolgirl.

While Lucius retrieved their outerwear, she leaned back heavily against the balustrade, feeing the cool rasp of the stone on her forearms. Ginny watched the gleaming people inside the ballroom, tracking the movements of Hermione, Harry, Kingsley with her eyes, watching as people laughed and drank and danced and carried on blithely, unaware of the slight woman looking on from the terrace. Couples periodically glided outside, sparing her a quick glance before walking into the gardens, laughing, and all of a sudden Ginny felt leaden, turning her body to watch the groups of young people walk through the greenery, feeling unsure if she could ever had such blitheness in public with her own partner—

"Here."

Lucius was behind her, helping her arms into her cloak, already dressed in his.

"I said our main goodbyes already. We just have to walk to the travelling point." He reached out to link his arm with hers, but she grabbed at his hand instead, lacing her fingers through his and holding them loosely and warmly. He watched as she brought their two sewn-together hands to her lips and kissed them, closing her eyes as a cat might. "Come on, sweetling." It was so rare of him to use endearments like that, and Ginny huddled into his warmth, partially sliding under his robe, as they began to walk through the gardens to get to the exit.

As they walked, Lucius looked down at her.

"Will you move in with me?"

Ginny was silent for a minute and felt him harden and stiffen beside her, preparing himself for another negative response. She knew that it was difficult for his pride—how many times he had asked her to live in the Manor, and how many times she had refused him—Ginny rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

"Yes."

Lucius said nothing but held her hand tighter, and when Ginny looked up at his face, she saw a type of brightness around his eyes that she hadn't seen before—not tears, but something else, some sort of radiance that—she suspected—Lucius hadn't displayed in many years.

"I'll start moving my things tomorrow," she murmured into his ear, and he turned quickly, kissing her hard on the mouth.

* * *

**Gr - I understand that the link for the dress may not have worked properly in my last chapter. Here is another link (it's only the sketch, but it'll do)(remove the spaces between the characters in order to copy and paste):**

**http: // .com /files/ ons1/166/1668379/09_2009/Picture_**

**On another note, I just really wanted to thank all the reviewers, especially the recent influx. You have no idea what your kind words mean to me. I just now realized that perhaps it's very bad etiquette of me to not reply individually to you. Oopsies. I'm so sorry. It's been crazy - well, it's always crazy, really. Just know that I read every review and take it into consideration. Also, I rarely do reply to reviews, so if you have a question, just PM me and I will for sure get back to you. Thanks so much, and Happy Christmas (and Happy Holidays) to you and yours.**

**- fury.**


	26. Chapter 25

Ginny sat on the window seat, pressing her face to the glass of the panes, watching as her breath fogged up the clearness, made everything a little hazy, blurring out the whiteness of the outside. As she withdrew, she traced curlicues in the fog of her breath with one fingertip, watching as the slices of snow from behind the glass became visible, carving through the condensation, drawing up and up—

It had been a month, now, since she had begun to move her things into the Manor. There was snow on the ground.

She leaned back, revelling in the nook she had nestled herself into. Ginny made the most of the time when Lucius wasn't home by exploring, pleased by the fact that he hadn't marked any rooms or wings as off-limits, pleased by his trust in her. She did like to poke around, her eyes so pleased by the resplendence of the place, by the old and lovely and antiquated richness of the décor, but she felt no need to pry, to nose around in areas she knew she shouldn't. Desk drawers were mainly left unopened, cabinets still latched, pictures still on the walls, carpets unmoved. Ginny wasn't searching for anything. She just wanted to become aware of the territory.

It seemed huge that he should have invited her to live in the Manor. Some time ago, during the Voldemort years, it wouldn't have happened. The laws about Pureblood society were so stringent that she would have had to be married to Lucius in order to establish herself in his house. Regardless, the action still seemed weighty to her. Lucius may have done some changing—she didn't hear any racial slurs from him anymore and he had stopped most of his sneering—but he was still a product of a different generation, and she had agreed with Draco when he had told her once that "people didn't change" and that his father was one of them.

She had replied that it was necessary to find the things that were important and likeable within said person.

So she had moved in, and it had been fraught and exciting and frustrating all at the same time. Ginny had refused to use any type of hired help or movers, and Lucius had become tetchy with her because of that decision, but when she had started to pull all of her old belongings—all of her memories, her personal items, the things that she saved over her years—out of her trunks and fling them at him, he had relented.

"But why do you save these things?" He had been so confused about the value of her seemingly worthless keepsakes—a snip of fabric from a Yule Ball dress, a yarn from a sweater her mother had knitted her, her first tube of lipstick, a note from Harry, clippings from the tail of her first broom. Lucius had been holding her old Valentine's Day cards and notes in his hands, frowning at them, and she had laughed at him, and then kissed him because his hands were full, and when she explained that most women did things like this and that it was her and the memorabilia or nothing at all, he had scowled, and then tied his hair back, and then held out the packing box for her as she had sorted, replacing the records on the player in the corner when each vinyl disc of classical music ran out.

They had sorted to the music of Rachmaninoff and Holst, and then she had packed to the music of Mahler while he had sat in her dining room and written some correspondence for his work, and then she had sealed and stacked to the music of Tchaikovsky and he had transported them for her, letting her stand in the empty place for the last time, absorbing the weight of her decision to move out. Granted, she was illegally subletting the place to a work friend of hers, but she had a feeling that she was never going to again live in her old flat. That night, they had made love to Schubert.

She sighed and smiled, adjusting the cushion behind her back. During one of her exploring jags, trips layered in between her five-day work week—mainly spent in the office but still partly spent at home researching—Ginny had found an East Wing hallway that had a row of concealed window seats, each one hidden by a different-coloured arras. She spent most of her free hours of reading behind the purple one, second from the last, drawing the curtains behind her and settling into the alcove, pilfering books from the biggest library.

She could think, here.

It had been an interesting month. Ginny realized that it was going to take a whole lot of work on her part in order to be able to cohabit with anyone, most of all Lucius Malfoy. While there was an amazing amount of affection between the two of them, sprung from their white-hot similarities and their frenzy for each other's bodies, there was also an incredible potential for fighting, and in the first two weeks of moving in, they had done just that, many times over. It became apparent that a type of hot, sexual, fantastical attraction wouldn't just suffice anymore. Things had to be worked on. Sharing the bed was fine because Lucius had a mattress so large it didn't matter if one grabbed most of the blankets or the other had the tendency to talk in their sleep. Ginny just ended up piling on more of the linens from the guest room for Lucius to use, and he didn't mind when she woke him up by murmuring. They shared a washroom, too, which had been odd at first, but Ginny figured out that Lucius preferred baths—which had surprised her—while she preferred showers, and so they rarely had to share those spaces with each other when they were in a hurry. There were two sinks—and that helped, too. The water closet was a separate room, which helped with the moderate flashes of modesty and embarrassment she had felt for the first few weeks, until she realized that the man she was living with had seen every inch of her and probably didn't care.

It was, however, the smaller things that set the two of them off. Ginny was irritated by the fact that she had to nearly beg in order to be able to cook in the massive kitchen, while Lucius became irritated by the fact that she would even want to. She grew frustrated with his reticence to update particular sections of the main library, while he called her ungrateful and bossy.

But in all—

Ginny smiled as she heard footsteps down the hallway. The strong, heavy balance of the tread meant that it was really only one person. She could picture him even though she couldn't see him, hidden as she was behind the purple tapestry—the even, unhurried gait of his walk, the narrow roll of his hips, the slight sway of the broad arms, the deliciously large shoulders. He had been so busy lately with the merging of one of the companies he had invested in that Ginny had hardly seen him for the past week—which was just as well, because she had been finishing up an opinion piece for the paper.

"It took me a decent while to find this new hiding place of yours, actually." He was speaking from somewhere outside of the curtain, and Ginny was sure that he didn't know exactly which arras she was behind, so she remained still and quiet, smiling to herself as she waited.

The halves of the fabric parted and Lucius stood between them, hands fisted in the purple brocade. He looked down the sharp slant of his nose at her, through the reading glasses perched on the end of it, his mouth relaxed.

"Hello," she said and tilted her face up.

"Hello," he replied, and he bent down to kiss her.

"I like you in your reading glasses. You look lovely."

"Thank you." He bent down to kiss her again, and this time Ginny parted her lips, allowing him to bring a large hand up to cup the back of her head and hold her firmly in place.

When he pulled away his bottom lip was flushed and swollen.

"Is this where you hide most of your time?"

"I'll have to find a new place now that you know it."

"Look at the snow." Lucius leaned forward and peered out of the window, taking his glasses off in order to see through Ginny's curlicues. She looked up at him, admiring the fact that he was straining to see through her childish designs instead of taking a sleeve and wiping them off.

"I know." Ginny's voice was soft, and she got up onto her knees, leaning forward beside him, both of their faces at the panes of glass as they looked outside. She turned sideways to face him. "Can you believe it's been a month?"

"No, actually." He traced a finger down her spine, smiling smugly as her back muscles rippled and contracted involuntarily. "Oh, that reminds me. This came. From the outside world." Lucius sat down across from her on the cushioned seat, holding out a letter. When Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, he shrugged elegantly and raised his eyebrows back, and so she took it.

She recognized the strong, feminine handwriting immediately, and a hot, sick feeling flushed over her. Her face turned feverish and a blush broke out alone the top edge of her cheekbones. She was petrified.

"It's from Hermione," she whispered, and because she couldn't bring herself to look at him again she kept them tracked to the paper.

_Ginny—_

_I've been doing quite a bit of thinking, and I wanted to let you know that my actions at the Ministry ball last month were highly inappropriate. I acted in haste and anger and while I will not apologize for them because I __**was**__ acting on how I felt, I want you to know that I have been giving a lot of thought to you and Lucius._

_I'd like to meet you for lunch someday soon. _

_In fact, I'd like to meet both of you for a meal at some point in the future, but I think I have to take small steps considering I __**was**__ tortured in the man's drawing room, for heaven's sake. I know you're back at work. Is there a day in the coming week that would be good for you?_

_I've told Ron about this. He's certainly __**not**__ happy but I've forbidden him to talk about it at home so at least I don't have to listen to his ranting._

_I hope your new home is treating you well—_

_Hermione._

Ginny looked up.

Lucius was looking at her with an interesting expression—if she didn't know better, she would have said that it was almost nervous.

"Hermione wants to meet me for lunch. Well, actually, she is aiming to meet the both of us for lunch at some point—" Lucius stiffened almost imperceptibly, and Ginny shot him a scowl "—but for now, just me." She folded the letter up. "I think this is a good thing. She's a damn good advocate to have on our side, you know." She smiled absentmindedly. "And I miss her."

"I'm glad." And he did sound glad. Ginny turned her smile onto him. "Miss Granger is eloquent. She, of all people, might be able to convince your oaf of a brother—sorry—" Ginny dug her elbow into Lucius' side and he corrected himself "sorry—your brother Ronald—that he needn't be so rash when it comes to our relationship. Yes?"

"Yes."

"And I'll gladly meet her. With you. For a meal."

Ginny looked at Lucius and rolled her eyes. He looked almost like he had something ill tasting in his mouth—face held rigid and tense, lips drawn.

"I know that a _Muggleborn_ would hardly be your first choice to have lunch with, but she's scarily similar to you. You've both got minds like steel traps. Both slightly haughty. Both frighteningly intelligent. She may even be smarter than you, actually."

"Charming." Lucius brushed off her attempt to needle him and reached for her. "I would like you to have parts of your family back, as long as they are reasonable and respectful, and the Granger girl can probably help with that." Ginny allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap, settling her thighs on either side of his, her arms looped around his neck. "Have you heard from any of them lately?"

Ginny inhaled shakily and unknowingly brought a hand up to rub at her face, reminding Lucius of the night she had came home with that awful handprint blossomed across her face.

"No. I sent letters to all of them to let them know about my new living arrangements. No responses. But at least there weren't any Howlers." Ginny exhaled slowly and looked up.

"I'm sorry."

"Well, let's not talk of them today."

Lucius kissed her, and then shifted. He tilted his hips up and pressed into her, and Ginny raised her eyebrows. He raised his own back at her, mimicking her facial expression. "Why so surprised? I haven't had sex with you in almost a week." He forwent her lips and instead began to kiss her neck, scraping her with his teeth and sucking large, hot circles onto her skin.

Ginny closed her eyes and tried not to moan. "I know. It's been driving me crazy. It's your useless schedule!" She hissed when he bit her. "All right, it's my schedule too." She shuddered as he used the hot flat of his tongue to lick from her shoulder to her ear, leaning back to allow him to unbutton her trousers and shove them off of her, climbing back into his lap wearing just her underpants. He was hard, the length of him settling between her thighs and rubbing against her. Ginny pressed her forehead to his as she moved slightly, feeling the friction.

Impatient, she reached down and unbuttoned him, freeing his length, shoving her underpants to one side and lowering herself onto him, actually crying out as he disappeared inch by inch into her. It had been too long—it literally burned, hurt as he stretched her open, cleaved her apart. And it was still going—he was still pushing into her, so large, so long, unending, and Ginny fell forward onto his shoulder, hissing harsh words into his ear until she could feel the warm soft of his scrotum against her buttocks and she knew that he was completely inside of her. She felt full and quivering, her skin alight.

A quick look at his face told her that he was feeling it, too. Lucius had his eyes closed and was breathing harshly through his nose.

They stayed still for a few minutes, Ginny clinging to his shoulders and nipping at his earlobe, Lucius tracing his hands over her buttocks, playing with the waistband of her underwear. It was nice—for the two of them—just to sit and feel each other, just to savour the sensation of being enveloped and connected again. He sighed into her ear and she sighed back, laughing toward the end of it, her breath turning ruffled and frothy, and he palmed her backside with a rougher grip, feeling the pliable flesh between his fingers and relishing in it.

"Seven days is too long," Ginny hummed.

"Christ," Lucius replied. His word was low against her ear, and Ginny smiled.

He was the first to move, rolling his hips upward and pushing his way deeper into her, and Ginny could feel the movements all the way through her body, reverberating up around her neck and through her mouth. She retaliated, meeting his movement on a downward stroke and connecting the soft flesh of her buttocks with the hard muscles of his thighs. She hadn't even bothered to remove his pants, so she could feel the rasp of the material against her bare skin, and it aroused her to know that she was the vulnerable and naked one and he was the one still dressed.

When his hands came up to grab at her breasts, plucking at her nipples, she tightened around him and he swore. When she did it again, on purpose, he turned pale and grabbed at her hips instead, trying to slow her down. Ignited, Ginny clenched and released around him relentlessly, bring a hand back behind her to cup his testicles, eventually tugging on them as they tightened unbelievably, and then Lucius went rigid, crushing her in his arms and thrusting up inside of her as hard as he could—nearly uncomfortably, hitting against her cervix on a violent jag—as he came, thrashing.

Ginny tugged his hair away from his forehead, cooling him down.

"Sorry," he gasped as she kissed his neck lazily. "I'm sorry. You didn't come."

"I know," she laughed, and kissed his mouth again and again. "I meant it that way."

"Wicked, wicked, wicked," Lucius murmured against her lips, and as Ginny shifted to get off of him, he shook his head. "Wait, please. I like this."

They sat quietly, and Ginny enjoyed the feeling of his chest rising and falling, moving her body in the same rhythmic pattern.

"Do you think this will ever get boring?"

His words surprised her, and Ginny leaned back to get a look at his face. "I—you're still inside of me!"

Lucius moved the corner of his mouth in a wry gesture, and then shook his head. "Never mind—"

"No, wait. I'm not discounting your question, it just startled me. It's true, we do always have better discussions when we're physically touching. This is just a new version." She smiled and bit at his lower lip before pulling back again. "Our sex has been fairly vanilla so far, I suppose. Will it ever get boring? I don't know, Lucius. Neither of us can answer that question. But I do know that we can _try_ as best as we can to make sure that it is constantly interesting."

"You sound like you know your way around the alternative side of sex."

"Well, I never said I didn't." Ginny kissed him again and bounced back, laughing, sliding off him and pulling her clothes back on. "We can try whatever you like. Something new every night? I'd like that. Anal sex, maybe. Or some bondage."

Lucius sat and stared at her.

"I'm being serious!" Ginny carded her fingers through her hair, untangling it.

"I'm sure you are. You're just being so frank about it." Lucius stood up, arching his back and stretching, letting her re-tie his hair and arrange his shirt. "We can do whatever you want. I'd like it, too. I don't think we _could _get boring, but sometimes I just—I think. I think about the two of us and how different we are, and if you were to ever want someone more virile, or younger—someone who could rear your children at a lush, young age instead of an old one."

Ginny gazed at Lucius for a minute, a calculating and extremely discerning look in her eyes.

"What?" He felt slightly uncomfortable under her stare.

"Well, that's why we work together—why we won't get bored. You said the reason yourself. We are so different!" Her face went from shrewd to gleeful in a minute.

"You keep me on my feet. Sometimes you bounce around from subject to subject and I just don't know how to keep up."

"I know that." Ginny tugged lightly on his hair and slid an arm around his waist. "Will you let me cook dinner tonight?"

"No."

Ginny slid her hand down and pinched his bottom, and Lucius jerked to one side, trying to get out of her grasp, and she lunged at him, feinting, and then—

"What was that sound?" Ginny stood upright, untangling her hands from his shirt and tilting her head to one side. When she looked back at Lucius, he was pale and serious. "Oh god, it's not Aurors again, is it?" When he didn't answer, she grabbed his wrist. "_Is_ it?"

"No." He shook his head slightly, straightening his clothing and checking his hair. "It is not the Aurors. That was one of the wards signalling the arrival of a guest." He moved his neck from side to side, and Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Who?" The question was strong and assertive, and she already had a suspicion that she knew who was at the door—

Lucius offered her the crook of his arm.

"We'd best go down quickly."

"Who _is_ it, Lucius?"

Ginny stood in front of him, her palms solidly on her hips, a worried and yet persistent expression on her face. Lucius once again offered her the crook of his arm, and met her eyes evenly.

"Narcissa."


	27. Chapter 26

Ginny stared at him for a moment, her face unchanging, but Lucius could see that she was thinking furiously, the shifting of her brown eyes telling him so. She was shrewdly summing up the impending situation, putting herself in the middle of it and assessing it for any potential danger or intricacies or grave problems. He saw her wand hand clench slightly and remembered just how powerful of a woman he was seeing—even the Death Eaters had heard about the strength of the youngest Weasley's hexes.

"You cannot hex my ex-wife, Ginevra."

She snapped back to attention and saw that he was looking at her with a now-mild look on his face.

"I wasn't _going_ to." Lucius tilted his head at her. "I wasn't!" She looked as though she were holding back a smile.

The wards sounded again, and this time Ginny could hear them properly. Narcissa's signal sounded mellifluous and flute-like; a silvery type of sound. She sighed.

"I'm not even dressed properly, Lucius." She looked down at her body, the sharp khaki trousers with the crisp pleats tucked into the brown leather knee-high boots, the large white button-up. "I look like a man."

"Is that my shirt?"

"I think so!" Her voice had reached a new high note, almost frantic, and Lucius shook his head, needing to calm her down.

"Ginevra, it's _fine_. You said that you didn't want to fanny around the Manor, dressed in gowns, receiving visitors. So why are you panicking now?"

Ginny shrugged, blushing. "This is your _ex-wife_. You spent years of your life with her. I just want to make a good impression, I suppose. No more ratty Weasel—I don't want to look like some raggedy young thing."

"You look wonderful."

His words were serious. He was looking at her plainly, an arm outstretched, and Ginny decided then and there to shed her immature insecurities. She took his arm.

As they walked briskly toward the front door, Ginny asked Lucius questions.

"What is she like?

"Loyal. Fiercely protective of our son—and therein might be your major fault in her eyes. It won't so much be that you are seeing me. It will be that you have left _Draco_ to be with me."

"How old is she?"

"Fifty-one, now. A year younger than me."

"I bet she looks good."

"She does. Narcissa has aged well."

"Like you." Ginny squeezed his arm.

Lucius looked down at her as they walked. "You're being fairly magnanimous about this impending visit. I would have expected at least some reticence on your part—but you're asking me all about her."

Ginny looked up at him. "I can't be angry that you were married before, Lucius. Of course I feel territorial, and if she does happen to step out of line I'll let her know. But somehow I feel that she won't be that way. Narcissa was always aloof and sometimes cold but she was never _cruel_."

"Not like I was." He was looking ahead again, face impassive.

"No, not like you were." He stiffened, seeming shocked that she had agreed. "You were cruel. But that's the past."

"True."

"Is she going to be very cold to me?"

"I don't know."

---

Narcissa Black _had_ aged well. As Ginny and Lucius walked into the dining room—where they had been told she had been shown into—the first thing Ginny noticed about her was the long and lean line of her body. They were of a similar build—both lithe and lissome, but where Ginny was taut and sinewy, Narcissa was supple and slender, looked delicate, seemed breakable. For a moment, Ginny looked between Lucius and Narcissa and thought about the two of them married, spending so many years of their lives together.

She had the sudden vision of the two of them in their bleached and younger days, all sprawled and pale and downy, coltish limbs and long, tapered fingers.

Narcissa's hair wasn't as pale as her son's—it was a more burnished colour, pulled up thick and high into a bun. She wore a long blue dress, well cut and well made.

Ginny imagined the two of them as sharing a sweet and dark kind of love, bitter but yet saccharine. They must have made a cutting, exquisite picture in their younger days—white layered on white, gold layered on silver on top of black and green and black and green. All of a sudden Ginny had the urge to look through their old family portraits and photographs, to fish out pictures of the two of them and run her fingers over the honed lines of their faces, the pressed pleats of their robes, the high, soft swell of Narcissa's breasts, the moon of her visage, then the half-moon of Lucius' face.

She realized that she had not spoken since entering the dining room, and that Narcissa was also surveying her with the same look Ginny was giving Narcissa—deep and dark and not necessarily threatening but discerning and disquieting.

Ginny stepped forward and extended her hand.

"Hello, Ms. Black."

Narcissa showed no flinching at the mention of her maiden name, and instead stared at Ginny for a minute, the two women ignoring Lucius, who was standing woodenly by the door. Such a sight they made, the two of them—the drastic and shining colours of hair so near to each other, the lean bodies, tall and willowy, a sort of determined magic prickling the air around them.

Ginny admired how her hand didn't shake.

Narcissa moved suddenly, extending her own hand slowly but with a feline, strong grace, gripping Ginny's hand in a surprising hold—Ginny had expected her handshake to be limp, but Narcissa shook like one of her teammates might—firm and warm.

"Hello, Ms. Weasley."

They dropped each other's hand and the thickened tension in the air dropped, too.

"Please—call me Ginny." Ginny inclined her head slightly to show deference to the older woman, and Narcissa nodded.

"Then you may call me Narcissa." She turned slightly and looked over Ginny's shoulder, seeing her former husband leaning cross-armed against the doorframe. "Hello, Lucius."

"Hello, Narcissa." He pushed off from the frame and walked calmly toward the two women, taking Narcissa's hand and kissing it lightly. "You look well."

"You also," she replied, casting a critical eye over him. "But you smell like sex."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up.

"As do you," Narcissa continued, turning to Ginny. In that moment, Ginny was reminded of a wild animal, something feral and wonderful in her face, and she remembered that Narcissa had managed to stay married to one of the most dangerous—

"Sorry." Ginny spoke the word before she realized and then had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Lucius laughed suddenly, a clear, deep sound, and Narcissa laughed too. Ginny was confused and on odd footing, unsure of the dynamic between the three of them, unsure if Lucius was on her side, or was suddenly siding with Narcissa, if she should be worried—

But then Lucius stepped to the side, moving behind her, and set a large hand on her shoulder, and the warm weight was reassuring, so she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Ginny saw Narcissa watching the action between the two of them.

_The woman misses nothing_, she thought. _She is owlish._

"So you're the _cunt_ that broke up with my only child."

Ginny blinked, letting Narcissa's words soak in once more. The older woman was excellent at keeping her prey off-kilter, but Ginny hadn't expected such a statement as that. Lucius seemed impassive behind her, and Ginny refused to look back at him. This was her battle, after all, and she had the feeling that this was a trial by fire—that facing down Narcissa was a task that she had to complete on her own.

"Yes, that's me."

"And the one who's seeing my ex-husband."

"Yes—that's me."

Ginny felt calm. There was no vitriol between the two of them at the moment. It seemed to be more of a contest of wills. They were both iron-jawed.

"Narcissa—" Lucius began behind Ginny. His tone had a warning note to it.

"Lucius, really." Narcissa shot an exasperated look up at him. "She _can_ handle herself." She stood back to stare at Ginny with an undisguised interest. "Yes, you can," she half-murmured.

Ginny smiled widely. Her mum had told her once that the best way to disarm someone was by smiling at him or her, taking him or her by surprise.

Narcissa cocked her head to one side, mirroring the action that Ginny had seen Lucius do so many times. And then she smiled—a wide smile too, exposing pointed canines.

"You're very uncanny," Ginny stated, still meeting Narcissa's eyes.

"And you're braver than I thought you would be. Although I shouldn't be surprised. I did see you fight during the troubled times. And I've seen you ride a broom before."

Lucius' hands were hot on her shoulders.

Narcissa continued.

"I hate your lanky hide for making Draco so miserable, but I'm grudgingly impressed with you. And you _are_ beautiful," she said, mouth open, tracing the points of her teeth with the tip of her tongue.

Ginny smirked, and bowed her head once again. "I thought you would hate me doubly. I'm relieved that it's only singly. _I'm_ impressed with _you_, Lady Black."

"Please—call me Narcissa." The repeated statement brooked no argument, and Ginny nodded. "At least Lucius has some pretty young thing to keep him company." Narcissa cast smirking eyes up at her former husband, who exhaled behind Ginny. "And from the—" here she inhaled "—smell of it, the two of you are making the most of that—_company_."

"Might as well," Ginny replied. "You never know if things are going to _end_." It was a pointed little jab at Narcissa's divorced status, but she had light eyes as she said it.

Narcissa laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. "Very good!" She looked up at Lucius. "Very good," she repeated, meeting his eyes. "And he is very _good_, too." Narcissa had turned her attention back to Ginny now, and the low tone of her voice left no uncertainty about what she was talking about. "I remember. I did have that for twenty-five years. It was—"

"Narcissa."

"Sorry, laddy-me-love."

Ginny laughed at the archaic soubriquet—it was odd to hear such a colloquial thing slip from Narcissa's lips.

"Will you stay for dinner?" The invitation came out of Ginny's mouth before she noticed, and then she laughed out loud as Lucius' hands pinched at her shoulders in aggravation. Narcissa noticed, too, the subtle movement of his fingers, and smiled.

"No, but thank you for the invitation. Your aloof young man doesn't seem to appreciate the idea of a triad meal. I just wanted to come by and see the woman that I was reading about in every paper." She circled Ginny, visually examining her.

"I know. After that Samhain ball, the media exploded." Lucius spoke placidly, his frustration from earlier evaporated.

"You never wrote me to tell me, Lucius," Narcissa said, shaking a finger in his face and then smiling childishly. Ginny marvelled at her uneven mood swings, fascinated and nearly anxious at the same time, rendered that way by just being near the woman.

"I never had reason to, Narcissa."

"I know." She sighed almost dramatically, then stilled, looking at the two of them for a long, hard moment. "You know that Draco will not forgive you. He will not forgive _you_, Ginevra. Ginny. Ginevra—he will not forgive _you_. He may forgive his father. But you are evil to him now. Unless—unless an action is taken." She narrowed her eyes and observed the two of them.

"An action?" Ginny tilted her head.

"Unless a sacrifice is made. Unless Lucius and you both simultaneously give something up—at the same time, the same gravity, the same weight, the same meaning—to Draco. He has always been this way—counting the things he has and the things he wants, and the things that people have taken from him. If you wish forgiveness from my son, there is something you will have to do."

Ginny felt as though she were talking to a Sibyl, and shook her head softly, trying to discern Narcissa's jagged, smoky statements.

"What—"

"I take my leave now. Until next time." With the last words, she darted out of the room, and both Lucius and Ginny could hear the sound of the front door closing. When she left, the magic in the house seemed to sag and loosen, and Ginny realised that the slight ringing she had heard the whole time they had been talking had _not_ been her ears but instead had been the wards. When Narcissa left, silence cut through everything.

"Oh." Ginny exhaled a soft puff of air, and leaned back against the broad body behind her.

"That," Lucius said, his hands tight on her shoulders again, "was Narcissa."

She turned in his grip and slung her arms around his hips, palms flat at the small of his back. "She was fascinating, Lucius."

He sighed, looking as though he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I know. I apologize for her antics. It's been so long since I've seen her that I had forgotten what she was like."

"I didn't mind." Ginny laid her chin on his chest and looked at him. "She _did_ impress me. She was so interesting. And such a sense of power—something owlish and feral behind those eyes, eh?" Lucius furrowed his brow. "You don't think so."

"No, I think exactly so, as a matter of fact. But people rarely pick up on that side of Narcissa. Mostly she's seen as a sort of trophy wife."

"No." Ginny shook her head thoughtfully. "No, she's fierce. I have to admire that in a person, even if I am perturbed that she shared your bed for twenty-five years. I have to admire that in her. She harnessed you, really."

"Hm." He breathed out a non-committal sound, and Ginny laughed.

"Kiss me, now."

He bent his head down to her, his close-mouthed smile disappearing as he held her head in place, using his tongue to force her into submission. When he pulled back, Ginny made a sound of protest into his mouth, and he ran the tip of his tongue over her upper lip.

"She likes you," he said, as his eyes stayed tracked to her mouth.

"I know," Ginny replied, moving her arms up to his neck. "What an odd way of showing it. Was she always like that?"

Lucius moved his hands down to rest on her buttocks. Ginny recognized the gesture not as a sexual action but as a proprietary one. His palms rested lightly on her skin, his fingers moving absentmindedly as he thought. Ginny allowed herself to be pulled closer and sighed as the softness of her breasts pushed into the broad plane of his chest.

"Yes, she was. That is one of the reasons that I married Narcissa—and not any of her sisters, and not any of the other Pureblood brides that were set out for me."

"You make it sound like a table of sweets was put out for you."

"In a way, it was." Here he smirked. "I forgot that you haven't seen any pictures of me as a younger man." He hissed as she tugged at his hair. "In all seriousness, I was the perfect groom-to-be. The fathers and mothers were falling over themselves to marry their fillies off to Abraxas' son."

"Show me pictures."

"One day. Narcissa, however, was not enamoured, and that was probably why I was so attracted."

"An arranged marriage with attraction—"

"Is a rare thing, I know. But we had a good life, and a strong life, and a solid life. But if a relationship is built on tenuous bonds and is based in a society laced with inbreeding and remarkably draconian ideals, something will eventually come tumbling down. After the war, things changed. Not only did the tensions for the Pureblood couples ease and separation and divorce become available to us, Narcissa and I also re-evaluated our lives together. We saved ourselves at the Battle of Hogwarts but in and among that safety we also lost something—irreparable, irreplaceable, and unnamable. We couldn't put a name to it. Draco noticed. We all noticed, and it just ended quietly."

Ginny thought.

"What did she mean about us sacrificing to Draco?"

Maybe she was imagining, but Lucius' back seemed to tighten for a hot second under her hands.

"I don't know." He was impassive.

"I think you do," she replied, her brow furrowing softly.

Instead of answering, Lucius bent to kiss her again, and Ginny moaned open-mouthed into him, feeling his fingers dig into her buttocks and heft her up to sit on the dining room table.

"No more talking, now." Lucius pulled up her shirt and tugged at her bra.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack. We just _had_ sex." When he managed to get her bra down beneath her breasts and suck a nipple into his mouth, Ginny sighed. "Oh, never mind. I don't mind at all." Lucius directed her back to lie down on the mahogany table, bending down over top of her, his mouth still on her skin.

"I've missed your breasts."

"Just my breasts?"

"Yes." His breath was hot against her wet skin and she laughed, throwing her head back, letting her hair spill in whorls across the dark of the wood. Lucius palmed one breast, tugging at her with swift, hard fingers, and traced his tongue around the hardened nipple of the other, alternating between the two while making soft, wet sounds of pleasure. As Ginny looped his soft hair around her knuckles, he pushed her two breasts together and let them fall apart again, tracking their movements with his eyes. She watched as he watched, noting his extreme observant nature, the one-mindedness with which he looked at her. When he pushed them together again and managed to suck both of her nipples into his hot mouth, she pulled on his hair and looped her legs around his waist, growling. He bit her harder in retaliation, pulling back with her flesh between his teeth and then releasing, watching as her breasts fell back into place again.

When Lucius released her nipples in order to unbutton her pants and yank them off of her, she threw her head back on the table and stared up at the ornately carved ceiling, picturing two milky, lanky bodies wound together as Lucius made her come and come and come with the tip of his tongue.


	28. Chapter 27

"Tell me about prison."

Ginny and Lucius were sitting in the bathtub, facing each other from across the water.

---

He had come home earlier from a meeting with one of his clients, and had been so tense and so frustrated that he had thrown a plate at the wall. Ginny had stared, watching as his own magic flared so brightly that the air around the crown of his skull had crackled, and his hair had flown up with static. First she had sat on the edge of the table with her legs pulled up under her, watching as he had stormed around. When he had finally snarled at her, she had kicked him in the buttocks as he had been turning away from her on a pacing step. It had been almost hilarious for her to see him lurch forward as he had. Then, when he had grabbed her wrists in his hands and held them so tightly that they had bruised right on the spot, Ginny had placidly suggested a bath.

Lucius had stared at her for a moment before nodding once and disappearing. She had found him already in the tub, and had had to brace herself when stepping in because of the extreme heat of the water.

He had sat with his eyes closed for minutes while she had worked her fingers up his calves, kneading at his skin, and when he had opened his eyes Ginny had smiled and then shook her head.

---

His face was frozen in the same bland expression it had been just moments before.

"I want to know," she said softly, staring back just as impassively. When he still didn't respond, Ginny spoke again. "I want to know. It's the last big barrier, Lucius."

He sighed and shifted in the water, bringing a hand up to rub at his face, leaving wet trails down his cheeks. Still he was silent, watching her.

"I'll tell you—" Her voice was a rasp, a whisper, a licking slick of water just like the damp around them, the damp on his face, and he could see her sharp incisors as she wet her lips with her tongue, as she decided if what she was about to say was worthwhile. "I'll talk about the war. I'd talk about Tom—to you. For you."

He could barely control the judder that ran through him. She was a braver person than he was, to name the name even after all of the years. There was something of the dark about her—something that must have attracted him to her—something murky and slinky and wild that curled at the back of her eyes and throat, along the slide of her wrists.

But she wasn't trying to seduce him with wafts of power or tales from the old days—he realised that as he looked at her from across the water, her hair piled on top of her head, strands sticking damp and dark red to the sides of her face. There was also something earnest and delicate in her eyes, as if she were honestly offering up a part of herself for him to pick through, sort into boxes, evaluate. And he knew that this was what people did when they were in—when they were committed to each other, when they were part of a couple.

He floundered for a minute, and Ginny still stared calmly back at him.

"Ginevra—I—" Lucius suddenly made as if to push himself up out of the tub, but she still didn't move, watching him with mild eyes. With his hands braced, Lucius met her gaze, his eyes slightly feral, slightly like a caged animal's, and her gaze was still so mild, so calm. He let go of the side of the tub, and lay back against the end of it, looking tired, and then nodded once at her. "Although I can't believe we'll be having this conversation naked." His deflection was snappy and cynical.

"Maybe it's better like that." Her hands were around his ankles, and it was a soothing touch. He exhaled as she played with the downy hairs that were there, scoring her nails lightly up and down his skin. "No pretenses."

"How cliché."

She tugged at a few of his leg hairs and he smiled.

"Put more hot water in the bath, please." She tapped on his ankle as she asked it, and he leaned over to adjust the tap. He watched her as she closed her eyes and sunk down in the now-warming water, immersing all of her body except for her head, the water lapping at her chin. Ginny exhaled softly, almost moaning as the heat increased, bringing wet fingertips up to pat at her hair, slicking some fly-away tendrils down.

"You're exquisite." He said the words before he could stop himself, and felt abashed about his outburst, but when she opened her eyes and smiled at him, sliding her legs up to loop with his, he relaxed.

"Tell me." She tiled her head back slightly, exposing the long white trail of her throat, and Lucius sighed.

"It's not a short discussion—"

"—Which is why I made you put more hot water in the bath." Ginny sat up straight and her breasts emerged from the water, stray paths of moisture running down between them, and Lucius stared, noting the immediate tightening of her pink nipples in the cooler bathroom air. His view was then disrupted as Ginny moved across the bath, coming next to him. "Put your legs up."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Put your feet flat on the floor of the bathtub—put your knees up." She moved his legs into place and then slung her own leg over him, settling herself on his lower torso and leaning back against his raised thighs. "See?"

Lucius exhaled. "This position is rather sexual."

"And you are _rather_ reticent to talk sometimes—except when we are physically touching." She ran a hand across his shoulders, coming up his neck flat-palmed, cupping his cheek and tracing a thumb over his lips and his cheekbone. "My hand looks so small," she murmured, and used her fingertips to track over his nose and eyebrows. "Please talk to me."

He shifted, and she settled more fully onto his body. They were face-to-face in this position, and Lucius felt slightly uncomfortable with having her eyes meeting his so candidly and so openly.

"Please," and then she leaned forward, her arms around his neck, and she was kissing him softly and wetly and warmly, and he opened his lips under hers, nodding.

"When I was put into Azkaban I had a broken neck. Do you remember that?"

"Yes. I was there, you know—at the Department of Mysteries."

Lucius looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, you were. I had almost forgotten about that, which seems cavalier, but—yes, you were such a little thing then. You mustn't have been older than fourteen."

"I was fourteen. No—wait—yes, I was."

Lucius gave her an appraising look. "And you held your own amongst some of the most violent and battle-weathered men and women I've ever known."

"It was fight or be killed. You know that."

"I don't know—I don't know." Lucius sighed and tilted his head back.

"What do you mean?" Ginny gave him a hard look.

"If I tell you, the allure of dating a rogue may wear off—" Lucius stopped the sentence halfway through, seemingly disturbed by his levity, and instead he breathed and started speaking again. "I can't expect you to believe anything I say—_anything_."

"How could you say that?" Ginny tightened her fingers on his shoulders, glaring at him. "How could you _say_ that, Lucius? I believe you when you speak. Why else would I have moved in here? I'm living in the same Manor where my friend Hermione was _tortured_. I'm living in the same Manor where you wanted to hand my former boyfriend over to his death."

Lucius flinched.

"I know." His voice was hushed.

"So—so, then tell me what it is that you think I won't believe!" Ginny had her eyes up to ceiling, blinking to keep the tears that had welled up in her eyes from falling.

"That I—that I—"

"Just say it, Lucius."

"That I never wanted so many of those things." The words came out in a guilty, slick rush, and Ginny exhaled while looking at him. Lucius looked miserable—more upset than she had ever seen him look, his mouth tight and drawn, his face pale. Ginny said nothing, and instead waited.

"That I just—I—do you know how cowardly I am? Toward the end of everything, I just wanted out. I didn't want to have to try and kill children anymore. I didn't want to hand over my wand to some psychotic—some—I didn't want to have to leave my wife and my son, but I did. I did, you see. I never said _no_. I could have said no. It's one _fucking_ word, and I could have said it."

"You would have been killed," Ginny said, her voice a whisper. Lucius looked up at her, an expression on his face akin to horror, as if he had forgotten that she was there, perched on him with her hands splayed across his skin. "You would have died for that. You know that."

"What did I want? I wanted to protect the race of magic—I wanted to keep us pure and protected, but then it was so much more, and then it became a way to vent rage on people I deemed lesser than me. We blame the Muggles for their genocides—Rwanda, The Holocaust, Bosnia, the Holodomor—but then we became that. And now—every day I think about because I have _no_ idea how much of that was an act for self-preservation, and how much was myself, taking out unbridled rage stemming from—from—expectations and society and family and the awful, awful things that went on in the households—horrifying Pureblood—things—I have no idea where I ended and where I began, and I can never hope to use that as an excuse, but it's something I think about every day. Every _single_ day. It's my penance—the iron shoes I wear."

"And prison?" Ginny prompted him softly, keeping her eyes on his face still. He seemed almost in a trance; leaden and soft-spoken.

"I deserved what I got."

"_And prison_?"

Lucius looked at her with wild eyes. "I told you—I deserved what I _got_!"

Ginny hissed and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and meeting his eyes.

"Nobody deserves to be treated like an animal. I'm sure you saw that when you tortured Muggles. Nobody deserves to be treated like dirt. So tell me—tell me _now_—about prison, Lucius."

"It was dark. There was so little light that when I was eventually free—during the raid—I couldn't see. None of us could. Other Deatheaters dragged us along because we couldn't see where we were going, and all I remember are the tears that were on my cheeks—the sun was so bright that we were all crying."

Ginny sat solemnly, silent.

"I suppose that we were lucky, in a way—the only guards there were the Dementors, and they had no interest in molesting us in any way—not physically. I had heard horrific stories from Nurmengard. We had all heard those stories. But when your happiest thoughts—when anything remotely warm in your mind—are being sucked out of you hourly, daily, constantly—you begin to wonder if you would rather endure the physical duress. Would you rather be physically and sexually assaulted? I don't know—I don't know if I would rather take that—over the emotional assault." Lucius blinked. "They went mad. All of them did, really. I saw people running at walls, headfirst, over and over again, trying to dash their damned brains out, just to die. There was always blood, everywhere. Blood and filth. But in the darkness, you couldn't tell what was water, what was blood, what was piss and shit."

Ginny shifted in his lap, watching him speak.

"I know that I paid, in part, for my sins by being in that place. I will never be atoned. I will burn when I die, but my time in Azkaban was a tithe." He shook, a little, under her palms, and his eyes were brighter. "Every day I had to try and protect my memories from those wraiths. Memories of my son as a baby. Of Narcissa. Of my wedding day. Of teaching Draco how to fly. Some of my memories are just wisps, now. Tattered. And I relived the worst of my times—unspeakable, Ginevra. Unspeakable. My worst—we all have our worst, and I don't know yours, but I cannot speak about mine—"

Lucius was shaking. It was as if the bathwater had turned cold and he was trying to hold back his shivering, resulting in greater tremors. The hands that had been resting lightly on her hips had, at some point in the discussion, been balled into fists in front of him, and were now trembling. Ginny smoothed her palms up his arms, across his shoulders, and brought her hands up to cup his face, her thumbs directly under his eyes. Lucius was looking shattered, his pupils dilated and darting and his eyes wet. Ginny realized, belatedly, that she had pushed him into some sort of regressive, animalistic state by asking him to talk about his experiences. He was relieving them, in some way, and now it was up to her to take the melt-down and mould it into something better.

"It's all right, Lucius," she soothed, hushing with her voice, stroking the crepe-like skin under his eyes with the pads of her thumbs. "It's all right, love." When he blinked, stray tears spilt out of his eyes and tracked down his face, and Ginny wiped them away. Suddenly, he gasped for air, sitting upright.

"Ginevra—"

He wrapped his hands around her back, pressing his head into her chest, and she could still feel him shaking as she held him, her breasts cushioning him. Ginny looked down at him and saw that his mouth was open and he seemed to be struggling for air. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and wound her fingers in his hair, petting him, rubbing at his scalp.

When he stood and lifted her out of the bath, Ginny didn't flinch or even speak. She simply let him stand, and then place her on her feet. She watched, naked and dripping, shivering slightly, as Lucius mutely pulled the stopper in the tub. As the water roared down the drain, he turned to her, and held out towels. Ginny wrapped one around herself and then took the other one, briskly drying him. Throughout, Lucius simply stood, his head tilted slightly up to the ceiling.

Ginny threw the damp towel on the ground, standing behind him, and wrapped her arms around his chest, kissing the skin in the middle of his back. He bowed his head slightly.

"Can we go to bed now?" His voice was exhausted and cracking, and Ginny nodded against him, leading him into the bedroom, pulling a flannel nightshirt over her head, watching as he put his sleepwear on, his eyes darkened and rimmed with purple circles. When he turned and saw her on the bed, sitting on top of the covers with her white legs bent at ungainly angles, he exhaled and seemed to attempt a smile.

"Lucius."

Her voice was melodic and warm, and even though he was turned to his bureau she could see the fall of his shoulders as he broke, slightly, from the sound of it.

"Lucius, come lay beside me please."

She had never seen him like this, but she wasn't scared by it. It needed to happen—it had happened to her—that hit of realisation all at once, the blow that seemed to strike in the lush area of the spine, rendering a person useless and shattered. Now—now it was time to meld the pieces back together in a proper manner.

Lucius moved slowly but still elegantly across the bedroom, sliding under the bedclothes next to her. Ginny, still on top of the covers, nestled to his side, propping her torso up with her elbow. He had turned partially away from her, and all she could see of his face was his left temple, and then all the glorious light hair. She ran her fingers delicately through it, trying to soothe him with touch.

"You'd do well to run, Ginevra." His voice was muffled and watery, and she realised that he was crying.

Instead of being frightened or unsure, Ginny was galvanized. She felt her heart swell sharply, and she was suddenly overcome with a white-hot desire to take some of the pain into herself and destroy it there, within her, away from him. She slipped under the covers, winding her arms around him, pressing one palm flat to his chest, feeling the hiccupping heartbeat, and one palm flat to his stomach. Her arms were crossed over his middle, holding him tightly. Ginny pressed her forehead into his back, and felt as he shifted, turning slightly.

"Please turn toward me," she whispered, her mouth tracing on his back. When Lucius was still, she repeated it. "Please—please turn toward me." She gently pressed at him with her hands.

Lucius turned slowly in her arms, keeping his face tilted up enough that she couldn't see his eyes or cheeks, but Ginny had seen enough despair in her lifetime to know how he would look. She didn't try to make him show her—it would only embarrass him. Instead, she slid her leg between his, keeping a hand on his heart and one at his lower back, pressing her forehead now into his chest, looking down the line of his body. She could feel the muted sobs underneath her fingers.

"Thank you." Her voice was hushed and silvery, and she kissed his chest again and again, trying to slow the erratic beat of his heart with her lips, trying to quiet the bucking sobs under her mouth with touch. "Thank you, thank you." Lucius moved slowly, winding his own arms around her, and she could hear him sigh, sort of shuddering, and then he went still, the crying stopping.

They lay quietly for nearly thirty minutes, and Ginny traced small, warm circles on his chest as his breathing returned to normal. Occasionally she layered still more kisses across the expanse of his skin, her exhalations heated and soft against him.

"You're welcome." Finally speaking, he shifted, and tightened his arms around her. His voice was deeper—raspier, but nearly sated—somewhat satisfied. He sounded exhausted but not rancorous, and Ginny breathed a sigh of utter relief, nestling into his grasp, tucking her head against him and slinging her arms around his waist, pressing small palms into the muscles above his buttocks. "Thank you. Thank you." He repeated her words to her, drifting off even as he spoke them.


	29. Chapter 28

Ginny started.

It was as if she was being pulled from a mire of a dream, waking up slowly but open-mouthed, like treacle and ice. She rubbed her hand across her eyes, blinking and struggling to take in the surroundings. It was a moonless night, so it was impossible to see anything in the bedroom. She strained, staring, but it was so dark that she felt enveloped.

Ginny cocked her ear and listening for Lucius' breathing beside her, but she couldn't—

"I'm here." His voice was even but soft, and it sounded like he was situated farther away from her.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her nightshirt slipping off of her shoulders as she did so.

"What—" Ginny narrowed her eyes and looked in the direction of his voice. After a short moment, she managed to make out his figure, sitting at the end of the bed, leaning against one of the posts of the bed frame. He had his head bent slightly forward, and his hair was almost a curtain around his face, one leg straight out on the linens, the other bent, the foot planted near to his groin, one of his arms resting straight and rigid along the top of the bent knee.

That was all Ginny could see of him—not his facial expression, not any subtle body language. He was merely a silhouette, a darkened statue, lithe and sinuous even in the black. She watched him for a moment before his still-soft voice broke the silence.

"Will you tell me about him?"

She froze as she was pulling her nightshirt up around her shoulders, one hand clasped around the material. Instead of moving toward Lucius, Ginny let go of the flannel and used the soles of her feet to propel her body back, upsetting the bedclothes until her back was flush with the headboard, her legs bent out in front of her at awkward, lovely angles.

There was a substantial amount of space between them—the material across the bed was vast and dark and oceanic. Ginny stared at Lucius for a minute, noting that he had raised his head, his hair falling back down his neck. He was staring back at her, but his face was a void of black and shadow.

It was one of the most disconcerting things Ginny had seen.

He was expressionless because he had to be expressionless—the dark was rendering them faceless and smooth, like charred dolls, like masked performers. Ginny felt as though a sheet of black silk had been pulled over both of their heads. They were reduced to jointed shadows, moving languidly and yet cautiously at the separate ends of the bed.

"What do you want to know?" Her voice sounded just like that silk, scything across the thick dark. It had taken an almost dangerous edge, but was tempered with tiredness.

"Whatever you want to tell me."

There was a pregnant, heavy silence between them. Ginny ran her hands up and down her thighs softly, feeling the downy hairs against her palms, watching Lucius as Lucius seemed to watch her.

Then she spoke.

"I never knew him as Voldemort. I only knew him as _Tom_. Just that one name—not _Tom Riddle_, not _Lord_, not _Master_—just Tom. One syllable, sweet and rolling and definitive, and we were on that first name basis. Friends. Pals. Friends, I suppose, even though it was that one-sided relationship that I never quite realised. But I was so young. I was only eleven, you know." Ginny tilted her head back against the headboard and sighed softly. "I thought I had found a real friend. Some of the things I told him, in that diary—so personal. So personal."

The mattress moved slightly as Lucius shifted, but Ginny could barely see the movement—both because of the darkness and because of the trance-like state she had entered into, reliving the memories.

"I was only eleven, but looking back now, Tom was like a lover. He was. He was like a lover." She was sitting upright, her head tilted upwards, the nightgown forgotten and nearly falling off of her shoulders as she spoke. "Everyone speculated for so long about the Chamber of Secrets—about what had happened inside. If I was still—if I was still an _innocent_ when I left. If Tom had raped me. Or—or rather, had sex with me—because at that point—it probably wouldn't have been rape. I was so enamoured, even when being used." Her head dropped down and the darkened curls fell in front of her face as a curtain. "But I didn't mind it—I don't think. As a child, I didn't mind it. Being used. The attention made up for it because getting undivided attention at home was so hard—I sound so awful for saying this, but it was so, so hard. And it makes you think, as an adult, if you were so naïve as to think you were enjoying it—or if you truly liked the situation. It's a hard call, really." She looked up again. "And I changed, Lucius."

"How so—"

"I don't—I'm not sure. I guess have you to thank for that."

He breathed in, sharply, and she was jolted back to full attention.

"Oh—no—I didn't mean that in a snide way. Jesus, Lucius—can we light a candle or something? It's so dark in here—Cupid and Psyche."

"We're not making love—not quite the situation Psyche was in." His voice was even-keeled and still came from across the bed.

"True, I guess. I'm—I'm off-topic."

"So the big, bad monster irreparably changed the direction of a mere child's life?"

Ginny shook her head.

"No. I didn't say that. _You_ are putting words in my mouth. Yes—you probably did change my life, put me in another direction, altered my personality. But was it for the worse?"

"Was it?"

"I don't know. I became harder—more glittering, more brittle—after that jag in the Chamber. I became darker, more knowledgeable. People were scared of me for a while, and I would be lying if I said I didn't like that. I liked it. I liked it when people moved away from me in the hallways when I walked. Do you know how exquisite that looked? Waves of students, parting for me, like Moses and the sea—me, with the bright hair, walking right through the empty path down the middle. It was fantastic. I guess, in a way, I can understand—" Her attention stopped wandering and she became focused again— "I guess I can understand, partially, why you got mixed up with him. Tom had a way of making a person powerful, you see. Even if it was just for a moment—even if it was just for a day—it was still so damn _intoxicating_." Ginny shook her head suddenly. "Fuck me. I've said a little too much in that regard. Don't mistake what I'm saying. There is no way in hell I would want the Muggleborns eradicated. I want to vomit when I think of the Final Battle. But I understand that one part of it—it all—the power."

Lucius was silent across the bed.

"I don't know. Maybe my change was inexorable. Maybe, one way or another, I would have become this person—this person with that subtle, knife-like edge, that sweet hint of darkness. The funny thing is—the funny thing is I got so many more dates after that. Tom made me the forbidden fruit—I was untouchable. I was a god."

He was still silent, and Ginny suddenly had the urge to taste him, to at least feel the hot press of his body against hers because she now felt small and tired and cold. She sat up onto her knees and moved a foot closer to him, pushing off from the headboard.

"Say something, please." She heard him move slightly. "Say something to me."

He shifted again and she could hear the soft sound of his tongue un-clicking from the roof of his mouth.

She sat back on her heels and laughed weakly.

"Oh—" she exhaled softly. "Did I render you speechless? I didn't think that that whole thing with Tom—that it was so—bad—but maybe it made me sound—"

Suddenly he moved from across the bed, barely even a darkened blur, and Ginny couldn't see all of the action but she felt as his body settled on top of her, pressing her down to the mattress, two solid thighs settling between her own.

"I was so quiet," he said, "because I was so struck by our similarities. I understood, just then, why we—why we work. I wasn't horrified, or frightened, or turned off of you by what you said." Lucius shifted his hips and she realised—"In fact, the opposite happened." Then he bent to kiss her, hard.

Ginny brought her legs up close to his skin on either side of his hips as his hands traveled, unseen, from her waist up to briefly cup her breasts and then tangle in her hair, pulling her head back. His face was right above hers, and she could feel his erection hot against her lower abdomen, but she couldn't even see his eyes in the dark, his mouth, the lines of his expressions. She wouldn't be able to see where his hands would travel next.

There was a movement above and then his mouth was on hers again, and Ginny moaned into him and wound her arms around his neck. Lucius released her hair and then his mouth moved to her jaw, to the curve of her ear, licking down her neck. There was something unrestrained about him—he was furious and wonderful, totally uninhibited by his admissions and her admissions and then the cloak of the dark.

"I—can't—" Lucius' voice was laden with need above her, and as the heat of his hardness brushed against her thigh, Ginny realised that he needed to be inside of her.

"Yes," she said, and kissed him. As he thrust inside of her, she opened his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue between his lips and crying out into his body.

Lucius dug his forearms under her body, curling his hands up so that they grabbed onto her shoulders from underneath, rendering Ginny helpless and stationary for his sharp, hard thrusts. There was no relenting in the rhythm of Lucius' hips—he was raw and he was real, and he was fucking her through the _bed_, snarling incoherent words into her ear and neck and hair as Ginny exclaimed below him. His chest was pressed to hers, and the sweat was pooling between them, making a slick and sucking sound as they moved. He was biting at her shoulders, he was biting at her neck, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist he could only manage a grunt in response. Ginny, for her part, didn't speak but merely dug her nails into his back, letting him ride out his frustration and his exhaustion and his insecurity. Breaking down in front of her had probably been bad enough, but having to hear about the man who had turned his life upside down for years had put him over the edge. Lucius was fucking her and trying to lose himself.

He shifted his angle, loosening one of her legs and draping it over a shoulder, and Ginny shrieked, her hands scrabbling at the bedspread as she pushed her torso upright. He moved along with her, never stopping the tattoo of his thrusts, keeping up with her movements, keeping her impaled on him.

She was chanting his name into his ear, and he spoke his first discernible words.

"Say it. Keep saying it."

"_Lucius_." Ginny snarled his name into his ear, moaned it across the bright plateau of his hair, murmured it into his neck, garbled it against his mouth, panted it and breathed it out into the dark bedroom air—air that smelt of heat and sex and musk. Ginny threw her head back and cried out in sharp angles and slick sounds as she came—first, roughly and jerkily, thrashing below his body as much as he would let her—and then again and again and again in rolling, fluttering, warm roils. He was unending, and she was still coming, her body a tuning fork, a cymbal, a bowl filled. Lucius was still growling, claiming that intense ownership over her, but as her orgasms kept coming and coming, he began to thrust more and more spasmodically, hitting so deep inside her that she cried out, her eyes smarting, and then as he came thickly she continued to ride out her continuous linking of orgasms, her legs squeezing erratically around his waist and hips, her voice an almost-whimper in his ear. Her voice was a rasp from shouting up into the darkness, and his thighs were still twitching, unbidden, against her. Ginny breathed heavily, feeling her breasts push against his chest in a rhythm.

"Sweet god, you are so good," she breathed into his ear, turning her head to kiss at his arms caged around her. Lucius responded by turning his own head and kissing her slowly, using the leverage of his own head to press hers head down into the bedding. His tongue lazily swept along her lips, tangling with her own tongue, and she tasted him, hard and masculine, as he kept her pinned to the bed by the way of his mouth. As he broke away from her lips he breathed deeply and trailed his tongue down her neck, keeping his head on the bed beside hers, his large body spread out over hers. Lucius' hands moved across the bedding from where they had been planted for leverage and slid out to where her fingers were tangled haphazardly in the bed sheets. He covered her hands with his, laying still and solid on top of her, all at once proclaiming ownership and a deep affection.

Lucius breathed evenly and deeply and Ginny realised that he had slipped into a sleep, still inside of her, and so she moved him onto his side carefully, pulling him out of her with her hand, him still hard and she still sensitive, her fingers wet with their combined release. She brought her fingers to her face and held them under her nose, relishing the strong scent. It was an animalistic gesture, and it made her feel primal—made her want to mark her man and herself, to show the world that they were bonded in every way.

Lucius murmured something in his sleep, and shifted closer to her, even in sleep his arms reaching out to her, and Ginny took said arms and looped them around her waist, turning to face him and tucking her face into his chest, feeling as his hands unknowingly tightened their grip on her, spreading his fingers wide and layering across her skin.

---

"Good morning." He was propped up on his elbow, on his side, leaning over her, one long-fingered hand pushing her hair back from her forehead.

Ginny was on her stomach, her face pillowed on her arms, turned towards him.

"Good morning, Lucius," she murmured, and closed her eyes as he rubbed at her scalp. He leaned over to kiss her just below the ear. "How do you feel this morning?"

"How do _you_ feel this morning?" When she looked muzzily up at him, he was smiling slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and warm.

"That's a good look for you."

"What is?"

"Nudity and a genuine smile," she half-murmured into her forearms, sighing as he continued to massage her head.

"Why, thank you." He bent to kiss her temple again. "Actually—all joking aside—I do feel better. Thank you for prodding me into speaking—speaking about all that." He had stopped smiling but his eyes were still soft at the edges, and Ginny sat up, the bed sheet falling down to her waist, as she moved and wrapped her arms around him.

"You're welcome. I don't judge. You didn't judge either."

"No—how can I judge?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. But you didn't—you listened properly and then you—we—" She turned slightly pink and rubbed the back of a hand over her mouth.

"And then I pinned you to the bed, and then we fucked—and then you had multiple orgasms, I believe." He smirked at her and she laughed, swatting at him and still blushing.

"I've never had that before. It was amazing. Must have been the unloading of all that emotional baggage."

Lucius laughed, continuing. "Perhaps. It could also be that—I think it was because I realised, at that moment, how much I lo—"

He stopped, and Ginny felt her breath catch hard and hot in her throat, because she wasn't sure what he was about to say—could have been anything, could have been any word—but he looked skittish suddenly, and then furrowed his brow, and Ginny pretended not to notice his distress, instead leaning forward and kissing his tense mouth.

"Yes, we are a little more similar than we had first realised, aren't we?"

Lucius nodded, seeming relieved, and she leaned back. His eyes were tracking from her mouth to her breasts, and Ginny laughed, pulling the sheet back up over herself, shaking her head.

"I'm sore from last night. You were—it was deep—rough." She looked away, smiling. His hand closed over her ankle and she tried to pull it away jokingly. "It doesn't look like morning, though," she said suddenly, craning her neck to see where the light was coming in from under the curtains, a darker purple dusky light.

"Well—it's not."

"What?"

Lucius smiled small again. "It's actually early evening—we slept the whole day. I suppose it was because of the emotional stress of the night before. So, in my opinion," he continued, pulling the sheet down to her waist, "we can just stay in bed. Have dinner in bed. Not get out of bed for the whole rest of the day, and then just fall asleep after we're—done."

"Can you do what you did last night, please?"

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Just a little note - music is such a huge part of my writing process that I figured I would let you know what songs I listened to while writing each chapter.

**For this Chapter:**

- Slave to love - Roxy Music

- Second Romance - George Winston

- Angel - Massive Attack

- Acoustic - Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

**For Chapter 27:**

- Kissing - Bliss

- Running up that hill - Placebo

- Too Late - M83

**For Chapter 26:**

- Essentially the whole Domino soundtrack - especially Heitor Pereira's Alma Muda - FANTASTIC SONG. Gave me the fire to write Narcissa.


	30. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: this chapter is a little intense in that Lucius and Draco both have sex with Ginny at the same time. If this squicks you, just skip right to the end of the chapter for the last bit of dialogue!**

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Ginny was kissing her way down his neck, relishing in the way his muscles were contracting and relaxing under her mouth. She could taste him—saline and warm under her lips and tongue, so masculine and musky, and she opened her mouth more and sucked on his skin, skirting it with her teeth, her hands coiled in his hair, pulling his head back.

He was sitting at his desk chair and she was on his lap, devouring him, rubbing hardened nipples up against his chest, her dress thin and slipping off of her shoulders, and Lucius had his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face as she licked along his jaw and up to his ear lobe, taking the flesh between her teeth and tugging lightly.

It had been a few weeks since that one night of disclosure, and things had been smooth and uneventful. They had sex at least once a day, with Lucius seeming hell-bent on having her in every room of his house. Sometimes his goal ended well, and other times it ended in laughter. Their last encounter in the main dining room had resulted in Ginny falling into the unused fireplace, needing two showers to get all of the ash off of her body. Prior to that, he had sat on a fork in the kitchen, and Ginny had had to extract it from his skin, laughing so hard she had started to cry, earning her a spanking and a disapproving look.

His hands travelled to her buttocks, palming the soft flesh, and he squeezed appreciatively and proprietarily, smiling wider as she moaned into his ear and then as she licked the pulse point on his neck, simultaneously scratching her nails across his scalp.

Ginny was grinding her hips into his, her skirt riding up, the hot triangle of light fabric between her thighs pressing into his erection, and she was murmuring into his ear—lovely, crooning things that he was partially shocked and partially aroused by—things like _I need you_ and _my love_ and _inside me, now, please, now_, and when her hands came down to his trousers, he spoke—

"Have my baby."

Ginny froze, and looked up at him, her hands tucked into the waistband of his pants, her hair partially falling over her face, and her eyebrows slightly knitted together, and Lucius was struck with how beautiful she was.

"What?"

She still hadn't moved, had only said the one word, and it had been cautious and low, and Lucius realised what he said and almost winced. Instead, he stayed very still, watching her carefully. The words were out now—he wouldn't be able to take them back.

"Did you just mention—did you just ask me to have your child?" Ginny had slid her hands out from his waistband and was sitting straight up, leaning back slightly, surveying his face attentively. She didn't look upset—merely somewhat shaken—and her eyes weren't as frenzied as he had feared they would be. She just looked discerning.

"I did."

Her hands moved unconsciously to her stomach—she was still looking at him and didn't seem to notice her movement, but Lucius saw the press of one palm into her skin, the way she was quiet and thinking, her mouth relaxed and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Have your baby," she murmured, one hand on her stomach, the other hand slowly coming up to rest on his chest, fingertips slightly curled, pressing into his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

"Would you?" He hated the way the words almost, _almost_ quavered—hanging there, suspended and static in the air between them, a sort of curling question beckoning her to answer.

Ginny opened her mouth, starting to speak, and Lucius leaned forward slightly, wanting to hear her—

There was a crack.

Ginny startled and nearly fell off of him, and Lucius had to wrap his arms around her waist to steady her.

"Balius, what on _earth—_" Lucius switched easily to being incensed, his voice reaching a low bellow, easily lifting Ginny off of his lap and placing her on his desk, adjusting his clothes as he stood, towering over the house elf.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, master, but—but—" The normally eloquent elf was stuttering, and even Ginny turned around to watch him as he spoke, righting her clothing as she peered over the desk, her eyes wide.

Something had shocked the house elf enough—he was nearly shaking. Lucius seemed not to have noticed.

"_What_?" Lucius' voice had taken on a sublimely angry edge. "_What_ could be so important that you saw fit to interrupt me with Ginevra?" Ginny knelt up on the desk, placing a soothing hand on Lucius' shoulder, and both of them looked down at the elf.

"Master Draco has just arrived."

---

Lucius was stock-still, even as Balius left the room, staring at the spot where the elf had been, and Ginny was silent beside him, staring out into the darkened hallway through the open door. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and she could feel his body rising and falling with an increased pressure—an increased heart rate, increased breath.

"Hey," she finally whispered, slowly bringing her mouth close to his ear. "Hey, you."

Lucius turned toward her, his eyes troubled and turbulent, his body lethargic, and Ginny knew that something was about to happen.

"Ginevra—"

"No," she said, placing a small palm over his lips. "Be quiet. I think I know—I have a feeling that he wants—" She stopped for a minute and thought. "I think I know what Narcissa was talking about—with regards to sacrifices—and I want you to know that I will follow your lead tonight. I trust you implicitly, and I'm not worried. Not at all."

Lucius took her hand, removing it from his mouth, and kissed the palm, licking it softly.

"Things could change, Ginevra."

She shrugged one shoulder, her face unworried and calm.

"Things can _always_ change. Not just from events like this, but from everyday occurrences. I'm not scared."

She rested her head on his shoulder and the two of them were still and thoughtful.

"Father."

The sound of Draco's voice jolted them from their quiet. Lucius turned slowly, dropping Ginny's hand softly, and both of them looked over at Draco, Ginny kneeling on the desk still behind Lucius, her head at a higher level than his, Lucius standing fully in front of her as if to shield her, Draco standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

"Ginny." He acknowledged her, too, and Ginny nodded at him.

"Hello, Draco." Her voice was calm and liquid cool, and Lucius felt a stab of pride at her placid countenance. She was magnificent.

"Was I interrupting _anything_?" Draco's voice wasn't quite nasty, but was deliberate in its intensity.

Lucius took a few steps forward, and Ginny sat down on the edge of the desk, sliding down, stepping on the floor as well, the carpet plush against her bare feet.

"No," she said, insouciant, and she stepped out from around Lucius, coming to stand next to him with a slim, bracing arm around his middle, facing Draco. "Why are you here, Draco?"

There was no answer as Draco surveyed the two of them, a curious, interested look on his face. His arms were crossed across his taut chest, his legs slightly apart, and he looked determined and calm.

They faced each other like separate sides of a battle.

Silence.

_Silence_.

But hot silence, cloying and thick and musky, silence that curled up between Ginny's legs and around her collarbones, along Lucius' jaw and the nape of his neck, Draco's calves and inner thighs and buttocks. Something was heavy in the air—something hormonal, pheromonal, something that had mixed and combined as soon as the three of them were in a smaller room, something that interacted with the heat and Ginny's previous arousal. Her knees shook.

"Draco—what is it that you need?" Lucius' voice was measured as he broke the quiet.

When Draco didn't answer the question, Lucius spoke again. "Draco—what is it _that you need_?" He repeated it with more force.

Then he moved.

Ginny watched as Lucius walked to stand directly in front of his son. She wanted to memorize their pale, aquiline profiles, their beauty mirrored in each other's faces.

Draco's calm façade crumbled, quite suddenly, and then he made a sound similar to a gasp, and all of a sudden he was in Lucius' arms, and Lucius was holding him hard, his eyes closing over Draco's shoulder.

"Father —" Draco's voice was cracked and low, and Ginny watched as his mouth moved, mouthing silent words, and then moved farther upwards, skimming over the skin of his father's neck, coming up to kiss Lucius at the corner of his mouth. Still Lucius' eyes were closed and she could see him exhaling deeply and rhythmically. Something monumental was happening but she didn't know what—didn't know what to do, what to say, not yet, not quite—and she could only concentrate on the determined beat of her own heart.

Lucius moved fluidly and kissed Draco on the mouth, closed lips to closed lips, and the beat of her heart shot downward, settling hotly and comfortably between her thighs. She made a sound of her own, a slick stifle of a moan.

Two pale faces turned to look at her, and some sort of dawning look had settled over the both of them.

"Draco—what is it that you need?" Lucius spoke the words to Draco but kept his eyes trained on Ginny, who stared back boldly, aware that her nipples were hardening and becoming visible through the material of her dress.

Draco exhaled lowly and watched as Ginny straightened up and walked the two paces over to where the men were still standing, chest-to-chest.

"I don't know what just happened—what is happening—I don't know. I don't fully understand." Her voice sounded light but strong in the dusty quiet of the room. "But—" Ginny reached behind herself and undid the zip on her dress, letting the material fall to the floor, her eyes still trained on Lucius, her cheeks slightly red but her neck strong, solid, tall. She unfurled her spine to its fullest height, still barely clearing Lucius' shoulders, not even clearing Draco's. "But I say—I say yes. Yes. I think—no, I want—yes. This is what you need—Draco" and here she turned to look at her former lover—"this is what you need. What we need. Both—all of us—yes. And after this? After this it is done. With us. And we move on."

Draco, his eyes on hers, nodded silently, and she could feel Lucius exhale beside her.

Ginny closed her eyes in silent relief and when she opened them again, two pairs of pale eyes were watching her, raking over her body, the hardened pink tips of her nipples, the slightly quivering thighs, the length of her pale calves. She smiled and then stepped in between them, facing Lucius, watching his face, speaking only to him for the moment.

"I've never —"

He smiled slightly, but his eyes were solemn, and Ginny sensed his fear all of a sudden—that he was afraid that she would leave him, for some reason, after this. That he was afraid.

"I know, Ginevra." Lucius lowered his mouth to her neck and bit at her lightly, pressing her back into his son, and Ginny's eyes closed as she felt the tug of Apparition.

When the world stopped moving, she noticed that Lucius had moved them to a guest bedroom.

"Undress him." The order had come from behind her, and she looked back over her shoulder at Draco, trying to read his face. He glanced down at her, lingering on Lucius' reddened tooth marks latticed across her neck, and then repeated his words. "_Undress_ _him_."

Ginny turned back to Lucius who was loosening his tie. As she stepped over and began plucking his buttons from their buttonholes, Draco moved behind her, wetly dragging his mouth over the pale white of her shoulders. Ginny let her mouth fall open, her fingers continuing their work down to Lucius' belt buckle, Draco trailing his tongue down her spine, working on his own clothes as Ginny urged Lucius to step out of his trousers, throwing the belt to one side, pushing the open shirt off of his shoulders, Draco biting at her shoulder blades, pushing her flush against his father as he moved up behind her.

She was surrounded by flesh, the pale, proud Malfoy flesh, acres of silky white and flushed creamy skin, Lucius erect and hard against her front, Draco hot and rigid against her back, both of their mouths working across her collarbones and her back, scoring wet and warm circles. Lucius bent his head to suck her nipples and Ginny leaned her head back against Draco's familiar, broad shoulders, looking up at him.

"Missed you, Gin-gin." She closed her eyes as he whispered down at her, shutting out his sad smile. "I'll miss you after this, too. That won't fucking change. But this is—this is—" His voice was hot against her ear and she shivered. Then, Draco slid his hand between her legs and suddenly slipped two fingers into her and his words were forgotten as she cried out, thrusting her hips against Lucius who made a grunting sound in response, sucking her nipples harder, biting at her. Draco was curling his fingers inside of her, pressing his fingertips against her inner walls, and Lucius was using his hands to press her breasts together, closing his teeth lightly across both nipples, and Ginny's legs buckled all of a sudden. Two sets of strong, pale arms cradled her, holding her as though in a basket, and Lucius looked at his son.

"Bed." And it was Lucius who spoke the word—or maybe it was Draco. Ginny was breathing heavily between the two of them and let the two men take her over to the broad bed that was in the middle of the room.

"How—"

"Both."

Lucius looked down at her where she lay on her back on the black coverlet, his face almost disbelieving, and Ginny smiled small up at him, reaching out for his body. When he bent to kiss her, she could feel him almost smile back against her lips.

She reached out for Draco, pulling him down to lie beside her, and when he was on his back, his erection standing tall and proud, she moved to straddle him, looking back at Lucius who was standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on her buttocks. She sank down onto Draco, relishing the familiar feeling of him stretching her, so similar to Lucius and yet also so different at the same time.

She looked down and saw that Draco's eyes were half-closed, heavy lidded, looking up at her. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, his fingers rolling and pulling at her sensitive nipples. Ginny began to move her hips, knowing that Lucius was standing behind them, watching them, and as she moved to grind herself against Draco's sharp pelvis she felt herself grow wetter and wetter.

The bed sank behind her and she knew that Lucius was moving across the coverlet towards the two of them. Chancing a look over her shoulder, she saw that he was on hands and knees, his hair unbound and handing light and sheer over his face and shoulders. Even through the curtain of blond she could see the paleness of his eyes, and the ferocity she saw there made her shudder. His shoulders rippled thickly as he moved, feline, toward her.

Draco let go of her breasts and moved one hand to her upper back, pulling her body down to his, moving his head to pick up where Lucius had left off, sucking at her nipples. Ginny closed her eyes as she felt Lucius move directly behind her, his hands grabbing at her buttocks and spreading them lewdly.

"Oh, god. Draco. Lucius." Her voice was hot, and she felt Draco laugh against her skin. Lucius' breath was against the base of her spine, and when he moved to lick wetly down her back she cried out. When he moved his mouth between her buttocks and teased his tongue against her anus, she bucked up in instant reaction. Four hands pulled and pushed her solidly back down onto Draco's body. Ginny buried her face in the crook of Draco's neck as Lucius kept his mouth in place, rimming her with strong, steady strokes of his tongue.

"Good girl." Draco's voice was thick and slow.

"Oh god. Oh _god_," Ginny murmured. Lucius had stopped and was instead feathering around her circle of muscle with a fingertip. "Please, Lucius." He slid his finger into her wordlessly, and Ginny moaned. He added another finger and moved the two of them, and Ginny bit at Draco's neck, contracting her inner muscles around him, and Draco hissed back at her.

When Lucius finally withdrew his fingers and reached for something, Ginny stiffened.

"Kiss me." Draco spoke against her lips and she bent her head, sliding her tongue into his mouth as she felt Lucius spread something cool and slick across her bottom, inside of her, around her. "Steady." Draco pulled away and wrapped his arms around Ginny's back, keeping her still and held in place. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Lucius holding his erection, slick with lubrication, looking down at her.

"Bear out against me, Ginevra." She nodded silently and he began to push himself in—

Ginny cried out, flinging her head back, and still Lucius bore onwards, every inch disappearing into her, and she was so full, too full, and that must be it, there could not be any more of him to push into her, and the pain was hot and white and almost sublime—Lucius was tracing circles across her back, Draco murmuring into her ear, and still he was moving into her, not stopping, not stopping. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes unbidden, hot and prickly, and they spilt out, down her face, onto the skin of Draco's neck, and Draco was kissing her, kissing her while Lucius was cleaving her apart —

Suddenly his hips were against the flesh of her buttocks, and Ginny was open-mouthed, tears tracked down her face unwillingly. Lucius bent over her, his back pressed to her front, and tilted her head back to look at him. His eyes softened in the corners as he saw the wet marks down her cheeks, and he wiped them away with the palm of one hand.

"Breathe." Was he speaking to her or Draco? She watched the two men exchange a glance and then they both began to move slowly.

"_Fuck_." Her voice rang out in the quiet bedroom, blocking out the slick sound of the lubricant and the arousal between her legs. "Oh, god."

"How does it feel?" Draco's voice was desperate against her ear and she moaned into him.

"I'm full—it's so much —"

"Do you like that? That you can't move because you are pinned down by us?" Draco grabbed at her face and kissed her hard, and Lucius chose that moment to speed up, striking into her with a forceful thrust. Ginny broke the kiss and cried out again, and Lucius gathered her arms up behind her with one of his hands, moving her body in a Sphinx-like position, her breasts jutting out toward Draco, who immediately moved to cover them with his hot mouth.

"Lucius." Her voice was barely a whisper but he heard her, bending his head to kiss the back of her neck. "Oh, Lucius."

"You're doing so well, my girl." His voice was heavy with strain and arousal, and she moaned. "Look at you, held between the two of us. You are beautiful." His other hand came to strike at the flesh of her right buttock. "That's it. Ride us." Ginny's hips were bucking and she could hear Draco breathing heavily against her chest below her.

The burning pain had stopped and now there was only the fullness—the feeling that just a little more would tip her over, spill her haphazardly, but the fullness she had at the moment was perfect and sensual and a closure that she would have never considered before. It was not taboo that Draco was grabbing at Lucius' wrist, the two of them touching each other angrily and fiercely, pinioning her between their broad, light bodies.

Lucius made a soft, fraught sound behind her, Draco's hand curling tightly around his wrist, Draco's mouth across Ginny's chest, Ginny's buttocks hitting noisily against Lucius' hips and pelvis, and all of a sudden she was coming. She could feel Draco pushing up into her from below, his come in hot, thick spurts inside of her, and the world went dark and silver and red, her vision dancing across her eyes, teasing her, and she couldn't even thrash between the two of them, her body pinned and helpless, and so she came in large, fierce undulations, her voice hoarse and barking, and she could feel the tears on her face, and then everything did go dark.

She came to as Lucius trailed his mouth down the skin of her back. Draco was pale and sweating below her, his length softening in her, and she bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks." His voice was just a whisper.

Lucius gently lifted her off of him, still hard and inside of her, and he set her down on her hands and knees, thrusting deeply and erratically into her three times before stiffening, coming inside her body with a desperate jagged movement, falling onto her.

She collapsed face-first on the mattress, Lucius heavy on top of her, Draco supine beside them. They all breathed heavy for a moment. Lucius slid out of her and she shivered, biting back a cry. Draco rolled to his side, watching the two of them as Lucius kissed her temple softly.

"I'm going to go."

Lucius and Ginny turned to look at him, and he looked back at them. "Thank you." He opened his mouth as if to say more, and then turned away, lifting himself off the bed. Ginny lay back in Lucius' arms, the two of them sweaty against each other, watching as Draco dressed languidly, running his fingers through his mussed hair.

"Draco." Lucius rumbled the name out from behind her.

"Father—" and Ginny felt Lucius react to the epithet, his chest tensing. "It's fine. It's all right—now, I think. Now." Draco looked down at the two of them, his eyes relaxed and bright from the after-glow of sex. "Bye Gin."

And suddenly the storm had passed. Lucius and Ginny watched as Draco left the room and after the heard the pop of Apparition, she felt his arms relax around her. She hadn't even realised that he had been tense.

They were so sweaty it was easy for her to turn in his arms, lying against his chest. His eyes were closed.

"I'm sorry."

Ginny kissed his neck. "What are you sorry for?"

"What we just did—"

"—Was fine, Lucius. It's not like you and Draco took advantage of me." She placed her hands on either side of his face. "I wanted to experience something like that anyway. I'm sure that both you and Draco have done things like that before. I hadn't." Her voice was soft and sated. She looked at him. "I love you."

Lucius' eyes opened.

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me." She smiled and lay down beside him. Ginny didn't need him to say anything back. When she felt him shift and pull her back against him, kissing the back of her neck, she smiled again, slowly falling asleep.

* * *

Songs for this chapter -

Anything Loreena McKennitt, but especially the Gates of Istanbul, Marco Polo, and Huron (Beltane Fire Dance) which is an amazing song.

I also veered toward Lady Gaga - Monster, Teeth, and Bad Romance Dark Intensity Remix.


	31. Chapter 30

**Two updates in a very short time! I am on a writing jag, and the next chapter after this one is nearly done, as well. I listened to Loreena McKennitt's The Visit and The Mask and the Mirror for this chapter - songs such as The Mystic's Dream, Bonny Portmore, The Old Ways. She has beautiful music. I highly recommend it.**

**On an aside, I have linked to a picture - on my profile page, at the bottom of the information about me - that I believe is an accurate representation of what I see Lucius to look like. It's a representation of Apollo, actually, which is fitting, given the prologue of this story. The link will bring you to the work. I praise her work, especially with the Greek gods and goddesses. Check it out while you are there.**

**I realise the last chapter was arousing to some but disturbing to others. Draco will not be making any other sexual appearances in this relationship, and I will debrief/have debriefed with some of you who had questions/concerns/criticisms about the chapter. Thanks to all for all the opinions!**

**Also, I have posted a second story - Puukko - on my profile, which is a ****very different look at the Lucius/Ginny pairing. It is not related to this story, and it is a separate one-shot that is not part of the Radiant plot. If you enjoy s&m and bondage/dominance, I suggest checking it out.**

**Read on!**

* * *

"Go to sleep." Her voice was low, and Lucius realised that she hadn't been sleeping as he had thought she had been. "I can tell you're awake. Your breathing is shallower."

"What time is it?" His voice sounded dusty, and he stretched his arms over his head, groaning as his back clicked.

Ginny shifted and exhaled lowly. "Just past three in the morning."

Lucius turned over in bed, reaching out blindly in the dark and feeling for her body. When his fingers closed around her slender wrist, he pulled her towards his thighs and chest, the bedclothes rumpling. Ginny let herself be moved, pliant, and sighed as her body came in contact with his, front to front, her forehead resting just below his throat.

"I can't sleep." He spoke over her head.

"Obviously," she murmured, kissing his skin and winding her hands around his waist, his hips, his buttocks. "I can still smell him on the sheets." Lucius' body tensed under her wandering hands. "Don't be afraid that I'm going to—"

"I'm not _afraid_," he snapped back quickly, and then Ginny felt him flinch, slightly, as he realised how contradictory he sounded. She sighed.

"I knew Draco, too, Lucius. You have known him for twenty-six years as a father, and I knew him as a classmate and then as a lover and a partner. We each knew him a different manner. I had a feeling that he would demand some sort of tithe from us—that's not to make him sound vindictive or childish. It's just the way that Draco always was, even when we were together. An eye for an eye, in all fairness and all seriousness."

Lucius hesitated a moment before speaking. "Yes, he was like that as a small child, too. At school?"

"Possibly. I wasn't around him so much, then."

"I knew as soon as Narcissa visited," he sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyebrows. "She must have guessed what he wanted, too. And you caught on quickly enough. Draco is a predictable creature sometimes."

Ginny nodded. "Yes," she replied. "But that's why he's so charming."

"You shouldn't praise a man's son when you're in bed with him," he grumbled, carding fingers through his hair.

"Sorry. But I do have a question for you."

"Hm?"

"You went along with it. You gave your assent far more quickly than I had expected. Why? I always get the sense that you're so proprietary."

Lucius sighed against her.

"How can I be a jealous man when it comes to my son? I took what was _his_. He brought you to the Manor when he hadn't done that with a girl in years, and from the start I wanted you and I think I made that very clear."

"You did."

"He deserved some form of closure, and with the Malfoys—with any of the major Pureblood families—closure is never typical and always complicated—decadent—troubling. I knew, as soon as he hit me, what he would want, and as a father I wanted to give it to him—and as a romantic rival and as the man who took his woman, I was obligated to. When you signaled that you were fine with what was going to happen—with us, the three of us—I didn't want to be the one who held it back. I didn't want to be the lone party. I was aroused by it but I was also uncomfortable with it because it meant risking you remembering how it was with Draco."

Ginny shifted, moving herself up his body, pushing him more onto his back, and resting her hands on his neck, making their bodies eye to eye.

"But were you forced into it? I don't want you to have been forced into it—that would make me feel dirty and ashamed of myself for instigating everything."

He shook his head.

"Nobody forces me into anything I don't want to do, Ginevra. Have you forgotten who I am—who I used to be?"

She smiled slightly. "That's true. And also, you're annoyingly stubborn, too."

He swatted lightly at her. "And—to be honest, to be completely honest—I always liked the feel of a woman between two men."

"Have you done that often?"

"Often enough," he murmured. "My younger days were very—very salacious, at times. Lascivious parties—more orgies than parties, actually. The older generations of Slytherin were depraved. Revels were exquisite, drawn-out affairs, and Narcissa and I both took part. She was just as fierce and libidinous as I was. Even more so, at times."

"I can tell," Ginny said. "You seemed to know what you were doing in terms of experience. And Narcissa—I feel as though she would have sex with me if I wanted it."

Lucius laughed honestly, then, his body moving with the peals. "Yes, she probably would. She's voracious."

Ginny smiled, and then was quiet for a few minutes. "I won't leave you for him," she said quietly, rubbing her face against his neck.

"How lovely," he breathed.

"Don't be so nonchalant," she continued, her hands kneading at him. "I saw how scared you were when Draco arrived."

"Malfoys don't—get scared."

"Ridiculous! Lucius," she said. "You looked so terrified that I was going to up and leave you after everything had been said and done. I would _never_ do that," she said firmly, meeting his eyes in the darkened room. "I would never do that. And I would _never, never_ do that with your son. I had Draco. I was with Draco. We made love all the time. But we didn't _talk_ like this. We didn't _fight_ like this. We didn't live together. I had what you think I want, but it's _not_ what I want. I want you—I don't care that you're older than me, or that I can't change some things about you. It's you I want, every day. I become so wet around you." She grabbed his hand and slid it between her legs. "Even while Draco was inside me, it was _you_ who made me so wet—you, crawling up the bed, you, touching me, you coming inside of me. I couldn't stop looking at you—how beautiful you looked, how fierce, how sexual, how deviant. You—sharing me with your son, _allowing_ him to touch me, _allowing_ us that, was the ultimate act of ownership over me, and I liked it. The anal sex—the ultimate act of domination—proclaimed you as lord and master over me, even if for that moment, and it felt right." Ginny rubbed her hips against him, and he could feel, indeed, how wet she was, how hot the space between her thighs was, as if she were radiating desire.

He exhaled and pulled her in tighter to his body, and she let herself be pliable, molded to his contours.

"What on earth happened to all the bravado that the Lucius Malfoy of yore had?" She asked the question quietly, and he paused for a moment before replying.

"What happened to the innocence that the Ginny Weasley of yore had?"

"That's a good point. I guess we change. We all change. The two of us changed—the War helped with that. It's no matter. I don't think I would have wanted to be with him, anyways—that old Lucius." She licked his neck, sucking on the skin lightly, inhaling his smell and humming in pleasure.

There was a moment of silence.

"What if I can't _say_ that I love you? What if I say that I _can't_ love you?"

Ginny was still for a beat, thoughtful. When she answered she spoke right into his ear, her lips brushing his skin.

"Then I will continue to love you until you love me," she whispered. "I shan't stop."

"What if I can never say it?"

"Then I'll love you doubly hard."

"That's a large deficit to make up for, Ginevra."

"I don't care. We'll make love, and I'll talk of love, and I'll tell you I love you. And you'll think of love, and you'll wonder about love, and you'll compare this love to Narcissa's and to Draco's and to every other person who has ever said the words to you. And it will saturate every level of our lives together, and I think that will be enough." She lay down on his chest, her entire body on top of his, her length spanning down him.

Lucius brought his hands up and rubbed her back slowly and rhythmically.

---

He found her in the solarium the next morning, wearing a long, green nightgown and reading from a book of Walt Whitman's poetry, her tangled hair tied up into a bun. As he stood in the doorway, he admired the lean line of the back of her neck, the way the white skin was bruised with mouth-sucked bruises and thumbprints. Her shoulders were marred with teeth marks, and Lucius felt a frisson of pleasure of seeing her in such a state. He stepped out of the doorway and into the room.

When Ginny heard him enter, she gently set the book down and turned to greet him. He noticed her swollen lower lip, the slight stubble-burn she had down the front of her neck and along her collarbones.

If he had been worried that it would have been awkward, he needn't have.

"Good morning," she nearly purred, her voice a creamy rasp, and he smiled in spite of himself. She held her arms out to him, opening and closing her hands in an almost child-like manner, and Lucius ambled over, his hands in the pockets of his dressing down. When he was in front of the loveseat, she tilted her face up to him, and he bent down, kissing her softly. She inhaled as he sucked her tender bottom lip into his mouth and traced along it with his tongue. As he released her and moved to sit beside her, she sighed.

His arm was straight along the back of the seat, and she was leaned into him slightly. Her body moved with a litheness and looseness that could only come from a previous, deep night of thorough, brutal pleasure, and when she stretched beside him, so cat-like and so lazy, he was entranced by her languidness.

All of a sudden he remembered the plea that he had made of her in his study the day before, and Lucius made a choked sound.

As she turned to look at him, he realised that his face had, in all likelihood, gone a mottled red, which was an action so unlike the Malfoys that it made him blush harder, avoiding her stare and looking stalwartly up at the ceiling. When he felt her long fingers grasp his chin, he resisted her grip, pulling back against her as she tried to move his head so they could meet eyes.

"Come on, you big, stubborn man," she hissed, and put a hand on either side of his face as she changed tactics, standing up on the sofa and placing a leg on either side of him, looking down at him from above. As she forced him to meet her eyes, she slowly sank to a seated position, wincing slightly as she did, tugging his head down with her movements, and Lucius sighed, and then reluctantly looked at her. "Why are you embarrassed, Lucius?"

"Are you sore?"

Ginny smiled at the change of topic, and shook her head slightly at his attempt. "Yes—but it's a good sore. It's good. It's wonderful. But you avoided the question. Why are you embarrassed, Lucius?"

"I said too much yesterday," he murmured, and then he flinched as she traced his lips with her thumb, dipping the tip of it into his mouth. All the while, he sat immobile, unmoving, allowing her to touch him but not pliant under her hands.

"No, you didn't. Are you ashamed of what happened with Draco?"

At Draco's name, Ginny felt his chest tense and his groin twitch, and she resisted the urge to laugh or grind her hips down into him, instead rubbing her cheek against his, humming slightly with pleasure. Lucius sighed, his eyes slipping closed over her shoulder.

"No—I'm not ashamed. I feel as though the storm has cleared there—inexplicable—but something has changed."

"I agree. It'll be a while, but I think that Draco will be back, and I think that he can be a part of this rag-tag family unit." She tilted her head. "So you're not worried about that."

Lucius knew what she was referring to but refused to talk, his mouth closing.

Ginny continued. "Then are you worried about asking me to have your baby?" Lucius made a strangled sound and Ginny pulled back, looking at him. "So that's it, then." His cheeks were still splashed with red—those high cheekbones painted with colour—and Ginny looked at him solemnly, curling her arms around his neck and anchoring his head in place. "Why are you so ashamed of asking me that?"

"Because," he began, having to clear his throat, "because I don't want to pressure you—you never said anything about children—because I don't want to impart any of my desires onto you." He looked so uncomfortable that Ginny just wanted to cradle his head in her arms, but she pushed on.

"I always knew you wanted children, I think."

"What?" He started and looked at her.

"You always had slips of the tongue about it."

Lucius made another tortured sound and his head tilted forward.

"Why are you so _ashamed_ about this? Don't be! Don't be," she said, and nudged his head up, pressing her forehead to his, breathing deeply. They sat like that, her hands on either side of his face, her palms pressing into his cheeks and his jawbone, his eyes half-closed.

"It hasn't been long enough—has it? Have we been together for long enough?" He looked up at her, slightly frantic, his eyes darting in small, quick movements, the pupils dilated.

"_Lucius_. I gave up parts of my family for you. I forfeited friends. I bent morals. Would I have done any of those things if I hadn't thought that this relationship was bound to last? It doesn't matter how long—it matters how much, love." She smiled, nearly against his lips, and he exhaled a long breath.

"So—"

"So I'll go off of my birth control."

She could feel the immediate reaction that her words had on him—the arms that she had twined around his throat were pressed up against his pulse point and she could feel his heart-rate jump, jigging ecstatically, and the breasts that were pressed to his chest were pillowed against the cavern of that muscle, feeling the thudding of his heart reverberating through her own body. His body had been coiled, waiting for disaster, rejection, and instead it had been granted assent.

"What—what?" His hands tightened on her back.

"We can have a baby."

His face was slack and incredulous. "It doesn't bother you that it will be out of wedlock? That your family won't be—"

"Stop trying to dissuade me from this, you silly bugger." She kissed him. "We'd have a beautiful baby, wouldn't we? All tawny and graceful and pale. Like a sylph. Hypnotic baby. Deep eyes." She was murmuring her words between kisses, and eventually she felt a dampness on his cheek that she knew wasn't from her lips, but Ginny refused to embarrass him further by calling attention to it.

"Yes," he breathed, as he held her tightly. "Yes—exquisite. And smart as a whip. And strong and brave and beautiful."

"Deviously smart," she breathed back, and all of a sudden she felt her own eyes prickling heatedly, and had to bring a hand up to dash away a few tears that had fallen when she blinked, becoming trapped in the web of her eyelashes, trying to track their way down her face.

"We should go out," Lucius said suddenly, still gripping her tightly.

"What?" Ginny was surprised at that—Lucius tended to stay in the Manor. He was nearly hermit-like in his reticence to go out into the outside world. She wasn't sure if it was a sort of fear of the judgment of others, or an unwillingness to be stared at. He was such a rare person to see, for example, in the streets of Diagon Alley, or at a Ministry event, that when he did go out, he was goggled at. Ginny privately thought that in actuality, many of the women were staring at him not out of judgment but out of some other type of interest. Therefore, when Ginny needed shopping done, she usually went by herself. Previously, she would have dragged her brother or Hermione or even Harry along—those three had been her closest friends, aside from Luna—Luna, who was currently overseas in Malaysia helping her father research for the Quibbler and who had been gone for a year now—but since the days of friendship with the trio were somewhat shattered, Ginny had become more self-sufficient.

"Out," he repeated, stroking firmly up and down her back.

"Out to where?"

"Out to dinner, maybe. Would you like that?" He looked at her, noting her open-mouthed stare. "I know that you've been venturing out on your own lately, and I feel like a—like a coward."

"Well, I know that you hate the crowds—"

"I'll make a dinner reservation for us," he said, and kissed her, setting her down on the loveseat and walking to the owlery.

Ginny was left sitting on the sofa by herself, slightly surprised at his abrupt change in behaviour. She figured, however, that Lucius was channeling his elatedness at her giving him something that he so desperately wanted by, in turn, granting her something.

The night prior, after Draco had left, flushed and damp from the throes of sex, after Lucius had fallen asleep, after their talk, his tawny body sprawled out across the mattress, Ginny had extricated herself from his limbs and had sat up in bed and though about his stunted request for her to have his child.

She had never really thought about children. Granted, she was in her mid-twenties, and sometimes her body had twinges, times when she did want to experience being pregnant, giving birth, carrying a child for the man that she loved. But when she thought of her mother—the pain that Molly had gone through losing a child, the scrimping and saving that had gone on in order for the seven children to make it through, the absolute lack of attention that Ginny had received when she had been younger as a result of _so many siblings_—Ginny shuddered.

But this could be different. She didn't have to end up trapped in her kitchen, wearing horrible floral print dresses that looked like they were designed for cauldron-shaped women, constantly cooking and cleaning and picking up after seven children. She didn't have to follow in her mother's footsteps in that regard. Lucius hadn't expressed a need for a multitude of children. And maybe she could handle those many children—if they wanted to have many. If he wanted more. But he was older—the likelihood of that was lower than if Lucius was her age.

And they could be good parents—_she_ could be a good mother. She was smart, and she was fierce, and she was caring, and together, the two of them would make such a smart, eloquent, beautiful child. And didn't she want children at _some_ point in her life? She hadn't given it much thought, bouncing around from relationship to relationship. With Draco, there was no doubt that they would never procreate. But with Lucius—something within her was ignited, wanting to settle down, live a life of extraordinary adventure and love with him.

And sitting there, leaning against the headboard, looking down at the sleeping form of her partner, his halo-like hair framing him like Gabriel, like Lucifer, Ginny had made her decision.


	32. Chapter 31

Ginny stood in her closet, shuffling through her clothes.

"We're going to be eating at The Sylph tonight."

Lucius had entered the closet. She hadn't even heard him, and jumped a little.

"Lucius—you're too light on your feet sometimes." He smiled at her, and she noticed that he was already dressed in his evening robes—long, dark blue billowing things. Underneath, he wore a formal striped button-up shirt with a dark blue ascot, and navy slacks. "You look very nice," she breathed, suddenly aware that she was wearing only her bra and underpants.

"So do you," he said, advancing toward her, and suddenly she felt like prey. He pressed up against her, the acres of his clothed body touching her nearly naked skin, and she groaned, feeling her underpants dampen. Ginny tunneled her hands into the gathering of his hair, and pulled him sharply down to her, kissing him so hard that he made a slight sound of exclamation into her mouth. He returned the kiss almost desperately, pushing her back into the hanging clothes, farther back so that the clothing fell around then, far enough back that her body hit the wall, and Ginny growled and raised a thigh, looping it around his waist, grinding herself into his growing erection.

"Christ," he murmured, biting sharply at her neck, replacing Draco's marks with his own.

Ginny let out a soft, feminine puff of breath. His mouth was scorching hot, burning at her skin, and his big hands were grabbing frantically at her skin—her bottom, her hips—sliding up under her bra, teasing along the straps.

"God. Am I ever going to stop wanting you?" Her voice was gravelly and plaintive, and he shook his head as he ground his erection against her.

"No—no," Lucius murmured. "Take off the underwear."

Ginny looked at him. "What?"

"Do it." She obliged, unhooking her thigh from around him and stepping out from the mess of clothing, into the middle of the closet, bending over, sliding them down her long legs, drawing up and holding them out on a single fingertip. Lucius took them from her and slipped them into a pocket of his robes. "Lie down on the floor and spread your legs."

Ginny gave him a look, but complied, settling onto her back and letting her thighs fall apart. Lucius was standing above her, his hands in his pockets now, his stance casual, but she noticed how his eyes tracked right between her legs as she spread them open.

"What time is our reservation?"

"We won't be late," he murmured, sinking to his knees between her legs. He brushed his tied-back hair over one shoulder, shrugging out of his outer robes and removing his ascot.

"You're ruining your outfit," she laughed, propping herself up on her forearms, watching him.

"Don't care," he said, his eyes never leaving her. He shoved his discarded clothing to one side of the walk-in closet, and then lowered himself to his forearms between her thighs.

Ginny watched him intently. The moments when Lucius sought her out simply to go down on her—no sex, no reciprocation—were the most interesting to her, and he often seemed the most vulnerable in those times. There was something about having him down before her that made him so.

"Take off your bra, as well."

She complied fluidly, tossing the garment over her head, rubbing light fingertips over her soft nipples.

He brought his face down close between her thighs, inhaling, and Ginny fell back then, staring up at the ceiling as he traced a hot fingertip up and down her labia, avoiding any nerve-rich areas but bringing aroused blood to the area.

Just as she was about to cry out, he lowered his face to her, curling his arms up and under her thighs, fingers on her hips, and, as he held her in place, he parted her with his tongue and began steadily licking her.

Ginny made a breathy sound and gasped as her hips tilted up automatically. He pulled them back down, holding her tightly. When he made a sound of pleasure that was muffled by the wet skin between her legs, Ginny moaned. It aroused her even more when she could hear and feel and know that he was enjoying his task at hand. He grunted softly, and Ginny realised that she was wetter than before, and he moved his face down farther between her legs, strengthening his tongue and inserting it into her as far as he could manage.

That was when her hands flew to his head, fingers curling in his hair. Lucius laughed against her, and her fingers tightened their grip.

Lucius tongue-fucked her determinedly, slowly, steadily, and Ginny kept her head pressed back into the carpeted floor, revelling in the wet, slick sounds that they were making, that his mouth was making on her, against her skin, inside of her.

"Please, Lucius." She hated how her voice sounded plaintive in the plush quiet of the small chamber, but when he complied wordlessly, moving up and using the strong flat of his tongue to move back and forth across her clitoris, Ginny hissed.

He uncurled his arms from her thighs and moved them up her body, cupping her breasts loosely, and then tugging on the hardened nipples methodically, in time with his tongue strokes.

Ginny breathed heavily, and brought her own hands down, gripping her inner thighs and pulling them up towards her chest, opening herself more for him.

He pinched her nipples viciously, and palpated his tongue directly against her clitoris.

"Oh, _god_," she cried out, winding her fingers through his hair even more tightly, feeling Lucius flinch from the pain but continue his ministrations anyway. "I'm coming—oh, Lucius, I'm _coming_." Her voice had a desperate, sweetened ring to it.

She came, hard, her thighs lowering and savagely tightening around his head, and Lucius had to let go of her breasts and instead grip tightly onto her hips to keep her in place as she yelled. Even as her pelvis rolled and she thrashed, he stayed with her, rising up onto his knees to be able to move with her as she uncontrollably jerked in her orgasm. He stayed against her, still licking her, until she begged him, breathlessly, to stop, her hips jerking away from his face in tender aftershocks.

She shakily raised herself onto her elbows, and looked down at him, still between her legs, lightly licking at her in slow intervals. He lifted his head, his strong chin and jaw wet with her come, and she smiled, rocking herself tremulously toward him, upright, gingerly on her knees, and then she grabbed his face, kissing him, using her small, rough tongue to clean her arousal off of his skin.

Lucius kissed her back, and she tasted her creamy saltiness in his mouth. He spoke into her ear. "Wear the dark blue velvet."

Ginny laughed and stood up loosely, her head light and fuzzy, and Lucius stood behind her as she chose the dress from the rack, as she selected her shoes, as she re-brushed her hair. When she reached for her underpants from his pocket, he moved fluidly out of her reach.

"No, not tonight."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him.

"Good grief. Agreeing to have your baby certainly gave you a boost of confidence." She smiled and turned around, shimmying into the soft dress.

He was behind her in an instant, his lush mouth at her ear, his body pressed to hers.

"Say it again," he whispered harshly.

Ginny understood.

"Agreeing to have your baby," she said softly. "Agreeing to have your baby—here—" and she took one of his hands and spanned the fingers across her stomach, pressing the palm into her flesh. "Your baby, here. Your seed, your baby," she said, nuzzling erratic, open-mouthed kisses on his mouth and jaw. He was biting at her earlobe, humming, licking her skin. "Your son or daughter will be here, within me, and I will grow and I will be marked as yours for _always_. For always. I want to carry that baby. I want you to make love to me during pregnancy when my body becomes sensitive and attuned. I want you to see my body change—because of you—throughout—everything softer and fuller and rounder and _yours_. I want you to be there—for everything." She kissed him over her shoulder, and he met her lips with a scorching, wet ease. His hand on her stomach tightened.

Lucius released her slowly, zipping up the back of the dress and taking a step back to admire her.

"You look lovely." His voice was low.

She turned and slipped into a pair of high heels, her face almost level with his face, and smiled.

"We _will_ be late, you know."

"I don't care."

---

Lucius watched as Ginny sliced open her tuna tartare. She drew her fork softly down the rippled, pink insides, and sighed with delight at the look of it. When she slid a piece onto her fork and brought it to her mouth, slipping it between her lips, she sighed again, closing her eyes as she chewed.

"Delicious," she murmured, opening her eyes and looking at him. "Have a piece?"

They were at a large, quiet table in the restaurant, situated by one of the big windows. Lucius needn't have worried so much about the stares—the clientele at The Sylph was distinguished enough that a simple glance when the couple entered the dining room sufficed.

The photographers that were sure to be outside were another story altogether.

He was tempted to sigh, and to fuss about that, but one look at his partner sitting across from him somewhat dispelled the anxious feelings from his head.

Lucius had no choice but to open his mouth and accept the piece of fish that she slid between his lips. She was right—it was delicious, cool and fresh and rich. He hummed and nodded.

"About children, Lucius," she began, after swallowing another piece. He looked up at her quickly. "No, no, I just have a few questions—about things—bloodlines and things, I suppose." She drew the corner of her mouth up, and shrugged slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—things with Draco are tenuous enough right now. I don't want to—if we have son—I don't want our son to inherit. Anything. Well, anything that had been promised to Draco."

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. She seemed slightly uncomfortable talking about inheritance so openly, but since it was something so often discussed in Pureblood society, he was not taken aback.

"Well, Draco has been mainly promised everything after I pass away, but I was planning on giving it to him earlier than that. I'm not going to want to be heading up the Malfoy estate when I'm an old man."

"So if we have a son—what then?" She looked uncertain, nervous.

"Well, then I would I have to think." He steepled his hands under his chin, and was quiet for a moment. "I would make Draco my heir in that he would don the mantle of running all the Malfoy industries, charities, and businesses. He has a head for numbers. He would inherit the Manor and everything that comes with that—the titles, the family artifacts, the art, the portraits, the history. If we were to have a son, theoretically he would be born out of wedlock and, based on Pureblood society, he wouldn't rank a proper inheritance. However, since I am essentially a pariah from that society, I think rules could be bent. If _we_ had a son, he would inherit the other Malfoy houses, and a percentage of the Malfoy gold. It would be a smaller cut than what Draco would inherit, but it would still be quite substantial—something in the range of 30-40% of the total wealth that I have." Lucius looked at her. "Is that satisfactory?"

Ginny smiled. "Even a smaller percentage of your money would guarantee a lifetime of comfort for someone. It's not the money that I am so worried about. It's that Draco might feel threatened by another boy." She was quiet. "What if it is a daughter?"

Lucius smiled, then. "Firstly, I would have to beat the men off of her with a stick. Secondly—that would be different. I feel as though Draco would be remarkably less threatened by a sibling of a different gender, and I might be able to grant her some of the Malfoy industries—maybe something in the mining sector."

Ginny laughed. "The _mining_ sector?"

"Yes," he said, smiling at her. "It's a legitimate part of my industries. Focuses on rubies, actually."

"So you'd give the girl-baby the business with jewels and shiny baubles."

"I could sign away the armory to her, if that would balance things out."

"Yes, I like that idea. I want my child to know the art of the broad-sword and the long-sword intimately."

"Why is it that I think you're being serious?" Lucius ate another forkful of his duck, and swallowed. "Here, try some." He held out another bite for her, and Ginny leaned forward and lipped it off of the utensil, chewing slowly.

"It's fantastic. How are you doing, by the way?"

"What do you mean?" He took another bite.

"Being out. It's a rarity for you."

He smiled slightly at her. "I know it is."

"Is this a one-off, or will you try to increase your public appearances?" Ginny tried to sound nonchalant, but Lucius noticed the soft set of her lower lip.

"Well," he said, setting his napkin down. "I suppose I can try to come out more. I'm not going to sending a pregnant wife out into the world."

Ginny dropped her fork on her plate.

"What?" Lucius frowned slightly at her. "What's wrong?"

She stared at him for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion that he hadn't realised what he had said. And there was her choice—did she bring it to his notice and potentially embarrass him, make him skittish and gun-shy? Or did she ignore it?

Ginny ignored it.

"Nothing, sorry. I just remembered that I didn't send out an important owl to the paper yesterday." She picked up her utensils and resumed eating. Lucius gave her an odd look for a moment before continuing.

"I have a sort of agoraphobia, now, I think—after being in the Manor for so many years and not wanting to venture out. I get all—my heart rate is somewhat higher than it would normally be. I'm simply out of practice with the outside world. I used to be very good at this—small talk with people I didn't know, shaking hands—everything. But now—"

"Are you tense right now?" She hadn't noticed before, but his eyebrows were slick with sweat, and his jaw was set uncomfortably, his fingers curled around his silverware.

"Somewhat. As I said—It's being out of practice, I suppose."

Ginny slipped a foot out of a pump, and slid it up his trouser-clad leg.

"You're lucky the tablecloths are long in this place," he said warningly, eating another bite of his dinner, his mouth still set in a tense line.

"I'm just trying to distract you from your anxiety," she replied, using her toes to knead into his calf muscles. He looked resolutely down at his plate, but she saw the faint beginnings of a smile around his mouth.

"Ginevra," he began, but when she slid her foot higher to nestle between his thighs, he shook his head.

"You're hard," she whispered, a wicked smile on her face.

"I've been hard since I went down on you on our closet floor," he hissed back at her, taking a long swig of his wine. Ginny laughed. "And you're being very naughty, pet."

"Oh, I'm your pet now?" She slid her foot higher up, nudging his testicles with her toes. He bit his lip and his brow furrowed. "Will you spank me when we get home?"

"If you keep on—if you raise that foot _one_ inch higher I will put you over my knee and paddle you with a hairbrush as soon we get inside the Manor." His face was serious.

Ginny, still smiling, looked at him for a moment, and then moved her foot rapidly up, the sole resting against his painfully hard length.

Lucius snarled and reached under the table, yanking her foot off of his groin and dropping it to the ground.

Ginny laughed out loud. "I told you it would distract you! You look much less tense now—well," she continued, tilting a head, "maybe tense in a _different_ way. Much less tense about the atmosphere and being in public, though."

"Finish your damn dinner. I'm _this_ close from doing something highly inappropriate in the middle of this restaurant."

"Such as?" She had stopped laughing but was still grinning.

"Such as hiking that dress up and letting all the other patrons know that you're missing a vital piece of your wardrobe!" He was speaking low and hard, but she could see how aroused he was.

"Well, take me home then, sir, and spank me until my throat is sore from screaming."

She thought he was going to burst an artery. He sat, immobile, for a moment, and stared at her, a flush in his cheeks.

She had never seen someone get out of a restaurant so fast. While he had settled the bill, Lucius had sent her to the coat check, and by the time she had received their outerwear, he was there, behind her, helping her into her coat, throwing his cloak over his shoulders, and ushering her out of the door.

The photographers had been waiting for them. Lucius and Ginny's appearance caused a flurry.

The flashbulbs were just as bright the second time around, but Lucius hardly noticed. Ginny shielded her eyes, looking down, but he ploughed through the reporters, not even stopping to give them a second glance. The questions were thrown from all angles, but Ginny and Lucius didn't answer—Ginny because she was being dragged behind one hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, and Lucius because all of his blood had left his brain.

---

"Damn," she murmured, pressing a palm to her spinning head.

"Clothes. Off." They were in the main hallway of the Manor, and Lucius was unbuttoning his robes with quick and determined fingers. "Damn it, I think I tipped that waiter three times what I should have. Why isn't your dress off?" He flung his robes to the floor, grabbing her.

"You Apparated us so quickly that my head is spinning," she said. "Lucius," she began, but he turned her around brusquely and yanked the zipper of the dress down. "Oh, you're going to rip it—"

"I don't bloody care," he growled, jerking the dress off of her. She made as if to turn to him, but he hefted her over a shoulder.

"Are you _serious_?" She laughed as she stared down at the floor, past his buttocks, at the heels of his leather boots as he walked them up the stairs to his room.

"There is something to be said for showing ownership over your woman," he replied smoothly, clapping a hand to her bottom. Ginny yelped.

By the time they got to their room, she was laughing so hard she was nearly crying.

"You won't be laughing in a minute," he said, and set her on her feet

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, still chuckling. "I'm not impugning your masculinity, but—"

Her words were cut short when he sat down in a chair, tilted her over his lap, and trapped her legs by hooking one of his over them.

She hadn't even noticed the hairbrush in his hand.

She noticed when it landed on her buttock.

Ginny gasped.

"_Not_ laughing now, are you, my little slut?" His words were strong and deep, and she could feel his powerful erection pressing into her. _Poor man_, she thought. _Last night he was nearly cuckolded by his own son, and today he's held back an erection all day_.

"No," she groaned, and was rewarded by another volley of hard smacks.

"I'm not even going to count tonight. I'm just going to go until my arm is sore." Ginny squealed out loud at that statement, half-horrified and half-aroused. "You were a bad little thing in the restaurant tonight. Though, I do admit," he added, still continuing the barrage of hits, "you did distract me. So thank you." He ceased his assault for a moment, bending forward and kissing her down on her lower back, right where her buttocks began.

"You're welcome," she breathed.

"Now," he said, straightening. "No more maudlin behaviour. I have a punishment to mete out."

He took his time laying into her, alternating between each buttock, layering the ovoid red welts on top of each other, just overlapping slightly. She had given up crying out and instead just clutched at his right thigh, moaning when he hit a particularly sensitive or already-bruised place. When he wandered down to the area where her thighs met her buttocks, however, she shrieked and bucked.

"Ah, yes. You are ever the submissive when I'm spanking you on a less-sensitive place." He laughed above her and used one of his forearms to pin her upper body back down onto his thighs, resuming his snapping blows to her upper thighs.

Ginny cried quietly, unable to stop the tears but honestly relishing in the burn, her inner thighs becoming wetter and wetter as she became more and more aroused. It was this Lucius that she truly loved sometimes, the furious, exquisite dominant who took her to task and owned her. It made her forget the tribulations of every day life, the disparities in their pasts, anything.

She moaned.

"That's it, my little pussy. Moan for me." He sounded like he was smiling but she didn't want to risk raising her head. His strikes were coming perilously close to between her legs. She could hear him breathing heavily above her, and the hits were slowing, but he was still relentless, making her gasp with every clap of the brush against her soft flesh. "Remember who is your lord and master." He sounded nearly breathless.

Finally, he threw the hairbrush to the floor in front of them, slumping over her and resting his forehead on her upper back, licking at her skin, his breath hot and strong against her.

"You weren't nearly as vocal last time," she said, her mouth against the material of his pants.

"I know," he replied, his face against her skin. "I was more inspired this time."

"Do you feel better?"

He hesitated.

"Yes."

Ginny struggled to sit up, and he had to help her, rising with her and turning her in his lap. Settling on his knees, she looked at him with an honest and discerning look.

"You sound hesitant."

"Well—"

"What if I—" she couldn't believe what she was about to say, but every inch of her wanted it. "—What if I spanked you?"


	33. Chapter 32

Lucius looked back at her, his mouth turned upward.

"All right," he said.

_What?_

"What?"

"That might work on my stress a little more than if I spanked you again. In addition, I'm not entirely sure your bottom could take it." He had a look on his face that Ginny had never seen before—almost cheeky, yet not quite. She raised her eyebrows so high she was sure that they were in her hairline.

"Well? Are you going to do it?" He looked back at her, and she realised that he was waiting for an answer.

"This isn't the first time you've done this," she stated slowly.

"Oh, no," he said, lifting her off of him and settling her down on her feet. Ginny swayed slightly but regained her footing, and he stood, looking down at her.

"Well, then—well—" She floundered for a moment before making her decision. "Well, I want a paddle."

Wordlessly, he disappeared into the closet, and when he returned he was holding a round, leather-covered spanking paddle.

"Best to start with this one. The wooden ones might tire your arm out more quickly."

Ginny took it from him, weighing it in her hand. "Good. Hair down."

Lucius complied languidly, pulling the ribbon out of his hair and depositing it in Ginny's upturned hand.

"Take off your clothes." She crossed her arms over her breasts, and watched as he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of his suspenders, slipped off his ascot, and twisted out of his slacks. He lay all of his clothing on the chair, and knelt down, naked, in front of her, in order to un-clasp his boots.

Ginny looked down at the top of his blond head, past the rippling curtain of light hair, down the broad, strong mesa of his back, down to where she could see the tops of his muscular buttocks, and she ran her tongue over her canines, her mouth watering.

He stood, toeing out of his boots, and cocked his head at her as if questioning her next move.

"Bonds. Do you have cuffs? Two sets?"

Again he went into the closet, and again he came out, holding two sturdy sets of leather cuffs, similar to the ones he had used on her when tying her to his desk. This time, however, his expression was more bemused, as if he were realising how serious she was about her role. Ginny took them from him and dangled them both from her forefingers.

"Get on the bed. On your hands and knees."

Lucius looked at her for a moment but complied, gracefully assuming the position, his head tilted forward and his glorious hair spilling down onto the coverlet. Ginny sighed with pleasure at seeing him so. She moved to the front of the bed and pulled his hands forward toward the headboard, forcing him down onto his forearms, using a set of cuffs to secure each of his wrists to the intricate looping design in the middle of the board.

"Is this what you were imagining when you had this bed made?"

"No," he replied, his voice almost petulant.

"You had better take a more appropriate tone with me, my dear," she said, smiling wildly and picking up the paddle. "Make sure to close your legs." He did so, and she stepped back. "My god, you look wonderful like this."

"Thank you." He wasn't making eye contact with her.

"Ha—my pretty little _pet_," she said, exaggeratedly, walking to the front of the bed so that he had to meet her eyes. "You didn't expect me to truss you up like this, did you? It's a little less control than you expected to have." She paused for a moment. "Your safe word is the same as mine, by the way." Nodding brusquely, she continued. "How many strokes do you think you deserve tonight?"

He didn't answer.

"Twenty for now, then."

She landed the first smack across his right buttock, and Lucius grunted, bowing his head down.

"Good?" Ginny paused for a moment.

"Good. Good strength," he breathed.

She climbed up onto the bed and knelt beside his hips, placing a steadying hand on his lower back. Ginny ran the paddle over his buttocks, smiling as his muscles twitched.

She laid into him methodically, using her strong thighs as leverage as she systematically layered her hits on top of each other. Lucius was silent except for the occasional grunt.

By ten, her arm was sore.

By fifteen, he had lowered his head and his hair was hanging down to the bed, his erection heavy and solid between his closed legs.

As Ginny finished off the twenty hits, she was struggling for breath. Chucking the paddle across the room, she paused, admiring her handiwork, and then she dragged a tongue across his buttocks, finally giving into her baser urges and biting at the firm, reddened skin. Her teeth sunk into the flesh, and Lucius jumped, biting off a moan. When she drew back up, she admired the small, even circle that her mouth had left.

"More I think. More," she breathed. "You need something harsher."

Lucius made a strangled sound but didn't refute her idea. Instead, his hips thrust forward of their own accord, and he licked his lips, speaking in a raspy voice.

"The dressage whip—the cedar chest in the closet."

When she came back, she held out the vindictive-looking, thin-tipped whip for him to inspect.

"Yes," he breathed, his hips pushing forward again.

"Lucius, this looks nasty," she said. It was a lighter tool, the handle textured and threaded, the long, thin end stiff and tapered.

"Yes," he murmured again, and she realised that he was relying, solely, on her to take his anxiety and his tensions and turn it into something buzzing and sub-space and arousing. He was giving himself over, completely, to her hands.

So she stepped forward and raised her arm, using all of her sinews and sports-toned power to crack it across his buttocks.

He yelled as loud as he could, partly from surprise and mainly from the pain, lurching in his restraints, the shackles rattling against the headboard. Ginny watched, fascinated, as a lurid red line appeared across his skin, and she licked a finger and traced it along said line. Lucius reacted to her touch, hissing.

"Stop that," he snarled, and she smacked him with an open palm on the buttock, reacting in turn to his rudeness. He gasped and hung his head forward.

"Shut up." She raised the whip again and cracked it, watching the second stripe appear below the first. "I've got good aim." Lucius said nothing, his shoulders heaving as he fought to keep from crying out again.

Ginny counted the strikes out, and by the time she got to ten, she was slavering for him to yell out again. There was something exquisite about his hoarse voice, his uncontrollable urge to cry out, his inability to stop the cracking of his voice, even if he tried his hardest.

The next hit fell on the backs of his thighs, and Lucius made a wheezing sound.

"Did that hurt, pretty?" Ginny hit him almost exactly in the same place, and he gasped. "Come on, cry out for me again. Let me hear that sexy voice pleading with me, all throaty and broken."

The third hit broke him. After the dressage whip had made contact with his skin, Lucius cried out in a hoarse, whistling voice.

"Oh, god—"

The next two hits stayed on his thighs, and, as she walked around him, Ginny could see the teeth marks on his lower lip, the brightened eyes that let her know that one blink and tears would track down his face.

The next two hits were across the lower crease of his buttocks. Lucius' yells had become slower and more tortured, twisted versions of moans, and she could see the redness of his erection.

The last three hits criss-crossed along his buttocks, layering overtop of already bruised and battered skin, and he did nothing more but hiss at those, his head eventually rearing like some sort of bound horse.

Ginny threw the whip on the ground and wiped her brow with a shaking hand, stepping over to the headboard.

"Are you all right, Lucius?" She pressed a finger under his chin and tilted his face up. "Christ, you've never looked more beautiful." She was speechless at his exquisiteness—two tears had fallen from his eyes, tracking moist trails down his cheeks, cheeks that were splashed with a lurid pink flush, dancing across the tops of his cheekbones. His lips were swollen from being held between teeth and chewed on so violently, and his head was shaking—he was shaking all over from the effort of the scenario.

Ginny knelt on the bed and un-cuffed him as quickly as she could, moving out of the way as he fell to the bed.

"Are you all right?" She repeated the question, her hands soft on his twitching shoulder blades. He raised his head, meeting her eyes.

"Yes. _God_, yes."

Ginny stood, uncertain, unsure if he could even move, but suddenly he reared up on all fours and grabbed her wrists, dragging her forcibly onto the bed, covering her body with his own. She inhaled sharply as he placed his forearms on either side of her head, lowering his face to hers rapidly.

He thrust his hips forward, entering her, and Ginny cried out, arching her entire upper body off of the bed.

"Fuck—you're so wet—" Lucius sounded strained, his eyes closed.

"Just fuck me," she hissed back. "Don't worry about making me come. Just fuck me." She ran her hands down his back to his striped buttocks, and dug her fingernails in.

Lucius roared something unintelligible at her and lurched forward, his upper body coming down onto her chest, nearly crushing her into the mattress as his hips started a thrumming, deep rhythm, each plunge forward jolting her across the mattress. She could barely breathe, her mouth open and gasping, her hands still spanned across his bottom, feeling the throb of the welts. His face was pressed into the mattress beside her head, his hair feathered across her neck and chest. His breathing was laboured and throaty, and as she raised her legs, watching them move, helplessly, with each of his movements, he half-growled, half-whined as the tightness that the new position afforded.

"I'm going to come," he gnashed into her ear, and Ginny reached a hand down and began slapping his buttocks, one after the other, in rapid succession.

Lucius bellowed and thrust four times, as deeply as he could, and then his entire body convulsed in turbulent, spasmodic movements, and Ginny felt him come, scalding, inside of her.

He collapsed onto her, wordlessly, and immediately fell asleep.

Ginny exhaled slowly, running light fingers up and down his back, and slid out, carefully, from under him, leaving him lying on his stomach. She combed his hair away from his face with her fingers, and tied it back with the ribbon. Pulling the sheet up over him, she made her way to the bathroom.

Standing over the sink, Ginny poured out her weekly birth control potion, watching it swirl down the drain.

---

When she woke up, Lucius was gone, but there was a huge bouquet of tiger lilies next to the bed.

"Oh," she rasped, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and sitting up. Grabbing the note that lay beside the bouquet, she tried to un-snarl her hair with one hand while reading:

_I'm sorry to have left you so early this morning. One of my salt mining business associates had an emergency, and so I am in Romania for the most part of today. Please accept the lilies as an apology and also as a thank you for last night. You were magnificent. I'm going to have to take my meetings standing today._

Ginny smiled.

_While you were asleep, Hermione Granger Floo-called the Manor_.

She nearly dropped the note, wondering if it had been Lucius who had answered the call himself.

_I spoke briefly with her. She wanted to meet up with you today—possibly for lunch. You should get in contact with her when you wake up._

_I will see you quite late—tonight._

His name was signed in his sharp, slanting writing. Ginny set the note down, picturing Lucius bent over his study fireplace, speaking with Hermione—Hermione, who had the courage to actually call the Manor instead of merely sending an owl.

And her heart swelled for him, actually taking the time to talk with Hermione instead of dismissing her and foisting her off on some house elf.

Ginny wrapped the bed sheet around her body and shuffled over to the bedroom fireplace, activating it.

"Hermione?"

She waited for a minute, and heard the sound of someone stubbing a toe.

"_Bugger_."

"Hermione?"

"I'm coming, one second—I'm coming."

_I'm coming_—the sensations of the night prior rushed back to her and Ginny blushed.

Hermione appeared.

"Hi, Ginny. Are you all right? You're red."

"Er—yes. I'm fine. I just woke up. Sorry." Ginny leaned a little farther forward. "I heard that you talked to—Lucius said that—was he all right? To you?"

Hermione inclined her head. "He was—fine. Do you want to meet for a late lunch today? Three Broomsticks at two o'clock?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, I'll see you there."

---

The pub was busy but not packed. Hermione was sitting at a back table and was—bless her—drinking something that looked suspiciously like firewhisky.

Ginny elbowed her way through the late-lunch patrons and sat down heavily in the chair across from Hermione.

"Hi," she said, breathing heavily.

"Hi," Hermione replied softly, fingering her glass.

"I'm sorry that you had to talk to Lucius this morning."

Hermione's eyebrows jumped a little at Lucius' name, but she shook her head. "Actually—actually, it wasn't bad. It was fine, actually."

Ginny looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I called and I was put through to his study before I could protest. He was—cordial. He actually bent down so he could see into the fireplace better. He was polite."

"Good," Ginny muttered, signaling fluidly to the waiter. "Hermione, are you going to be eating?"

After they had ordered, and a fresh drink had been set in front of each of them, Ginny spoke.

"Will Ron ever forgive me?"

"Straight to the point, hm?" Hermione loosened the cuffs of her button-up shirt and took another sip of her alcohol. "I'm not sure. When I told him that I had written you—that first time, after you moved into the Manor—he almost went apoplectic. I had to nearly wrestle him to the floor in order to calm him down." Hermione peered at Ginny. "Are you happy?" The question was random but warranted.

"Yes," she replied instantaneously. Hermione tilted her head. "I am."

"Well, then—good." There was awkward pause, and Hermione sighed, rubbing at her face. "I do want to apologise for my words at the ball. I was far too scathing. I meant them, so I can't apologise for that, but I didn't mean for them to be so hurtful."

"It's fine, Hermione. You were the least of my worries. But thank you—I accept your apology. And I appreciate you being decent to Lucius—and I appreciate you inviting me to lunch. I've lost enough of my family—" Ginny bowed her head at the unexpected warmth that was gathering at the corners of her eyes. "It's bad enough that I've lost my family. I didn't want to lose a friend, either."

"I want to meet him," Hermione said suddenly, and Ginny brought her head up, looking quizzically at her. "I have this evil figure of a man in my head, and if I'm going to accept this relationship in any way, I am going to have to replace that dated figure—he must not be completely rotten if you're so happy with him." Her words weren't judgmental, just light.

"Agreed. And Hermione—we do talk about Azkaban. We did talk about it. And the diary." Ginny subtly brought up the digs that Hermione had flung at her during their last face-to-face meeting.

Hermione had the grace to turn pink. "Well, I'm glad for that. There was no way a relationship could be started without—wait a moment. How did you even meet, anyway?"

Ginny grimaced. "When Draco took me to the Manor for the first time—when he took me to meet Lucius, officially."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I know. It sounds terrible. But while Draco was fiery and good and fun, he was immature and reluctant to _read—_" Hermione's eyebrows creased drastically, and Ginny knew she had hit a nerve— "and Lucius was deep and willing to speak and talk and have discussions, and when Draco and I eventually—and inevitably—separated, I had to go back to the Manor to collect some of my books—my favourite books. And I ended up yelling at him."

"Draco?"

"No, _Lucius_. And then he—he grabbed me and—"

"And?" Hermione was leaning slightly forward, looking engrossed.

"And then he fucked me. On his desk."

Hermione sat straight up, her cheeks coloured. "Oh." She wet her lips. "And was it—was it good?"

"Yes," Ginny hissed, breathing out. "It was. It _is_. It's the best I've ever had. I can't even—I can't explain it. It's like—when he's inside me—he's crawling through my brain, on hands and knees, like he's stroking all of my synapses and all of my skin and all of my nerve-endings, all at once."

Hermione's mouth was slightly open.

"Do you want another round?" The waiter was above them.

"_Yes_, please."

When the second round had been put in front of them, alongside their food, Ginny looked back at Hermione.

"All right," Hermione said slowly. "I accept it."

"What?"

"I accept that you're with Malfoy—Lucius."

Ginny smiled. "Good. Thank you. I wish my family could at least try, as you have."

"It's not easy, Gin. It's hard enough for me. I associate him with—with—Bellatrix and that night at the Manor. He watched. You must realise that. And your family—they're a determined bunch. You're never going to have all of them. You must know that. You do know that?"

Ginny nodded silently. "I know that. Mum is a lost cause. Dad might—maybe—come around. As for the brothers—maybe Bill. Maybe Charlie. I don't know about the rest."

---

"I'll find a time when you can meet him," Ginny said, as she pulled on her coat. "Thank you, Hermione."

The two women stood awkwardly for a moment before Ginny lunged forward and clasped Hermione to her body, tightly and ferociously. Hermione returned the embrace after only a second of hesitation, her arms unyielding and strong as Ginny's.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Ginny inclined her head and Apparated to the front steps of the Manor.

---

The Aurors, clustered around the front door, were thick—stocky men, so contrasted to Lucius' fine lines and light colouring—men who knew how to use their shoulders as they did their wands, men who were vindictive, scarred by the War as everyone else, men who were just doing their job and yet more so, men who were jolted by the sound of Ginny's arrival.

At the crack of her Apparition, all of the men whipped around, their stark faces exposed, and Ginny felt angry and frightened.

Her hand curled around her wand.

She remembered the stance—it had been so long since she had duelled properly, but her body remembered the fantastic curves of each posture, the supple motion of wrist as a hand was flung, carelessly, insouciantly, over a head, behind a neck, hurling a curse at someone—the squared set of chest—the way she remembered Lucius with Sirius, the graceful and nearly _careless_ arm movements, hip set, slight bent of knees.

She would battle with him.

She could battle with _them_.

And the wind outside the manor made her hair fly like the Morrigan, her eyes flint and fire.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. But just what is going _on_ here?"

* * *

**Hi everyone - **

**Just a quick author's note for a little poll. I was wondering if this piece was perhaps getting too PWP-ish - can you drop me a line (PM, review, whatever) and let me know your thoughts on that? A reader who has been with this piece since the start brought it up in a review and I would honestly love to know all your opinions on it - I edit my upcoming chapters according to your ideas**

**thanks**

**- fury**


	34. Chapter 33

By the time Lucius got to the holding cell at the Ministry, it was past three o'clock in the morning.

Ginny was sitting on the bench in the room, her legs folded up underneath her lithe body, her head tilted forward, her arms crossed. She looked petulant and yet also angry, and mainly she looked tired. As Lucius watched, she tilted her neck from side to side, reaching creamy fingers up, feeling along the cords of her muscles, wincing.

When he was let in, the bars clinking, her head raised up completely.

"Lucius." Ginny's voice was breathless and exhausted. He looked as she felt—his hair tousled and tangled, his mouth heavy with tiredness, his eyes smudged underneath with deep blue. He sighed heavily, opening his arms to her, and she smiled a watery smile.

"Ginevra," he breathed back, and he drew her up off of the bench into a soft hold, his hands drifting light on either side of her face. "What on earth happened?" She could see that he was searching her, checking her over for hurts, bumps, bruises, cuts, deeper cuts—his pupils flicked like a metronome, motions from a time long past.

She pulled back slightly, her cheeks a hot pink.

"I cursed—"

_Arm raised so delicately, the wrist loose and yet still held tautly, the wand heavy and luscious between the ivory fingers, the energy just thrumming through her, thrumming angrily and yet happily, happy to be let out, happy that she could be at the eye of the storm, happy to be defending her mate, happy to be inflicting pain_—

"—an Auror."

She refused to look down.

Lucius stared back at her, his eyebrows raised in a look of surprise, his mouth only just slightly ajar.

"She cursed one of our intermediate Aurors."

The voice came from behind them, and Lucius turned carefully.

Gawain Robards was framed in the doorway, his eyes calm and cautious, his arms crossed over his chest, his body squared towards them.

Ginny felt as Lucius immediately straightened—his spine extending, his head thrown back slightly—and she realised that they were squaring off, ever so slightly, but squaring off nonetheless. She darted glances between the two men, nothing the way that Lucius narrowed his eyes. She understood his anger—this man was the head of the Auror department, head of the people that had been harassing him for the past while. Lucius ground his teeth.

"Robards."

"Malfoy." The sterile head nod was returned, and the two men looked at each other for a moment. Ginny knew that Lucius wouldn't bend, and instead waited for Robards to—

Robards shook his head suddenly, his arms going lax and his hands going into his pockets. "Look, I'm sorry about my team." Ginny watched Lucius' face as Robards talked, noting the slight movements of his blond eyebrows, the muscles twitching around his mouth. "I just realised that they had been taking it upon themselves to—patrol—what I deemed unnecessary." Ginny didn't know if Robards was lying, or if he was being truthful, but either way Lucius' lips relaxed just a mite of a centimetre, and she felt relaxed in turn.

"Apology accepted."

Lucius let it go so easily, and the tension in the room loosened just a bit.

"And Miss Weasley is here because she sent a particularly nasty hex at an Auror who _also _took it upon himself to call her an unflattering nickname."

Ginny extricated herself from Lucius. "He called me the 'Death Eater whore'. That's a little worse than _unflattering_." She faced Robards testily, her hair coming out of the bun she had pulled it into, her arms on her hips, her muscles tensed. She raised her eyebrows.

Lucius stood back, watching, his arms crossed loosely.

Robards inclined his head. "He has been suspended for a month. You should be getting a written apology from him. I apologise for locking you up, but it was necessary—standard procedure for attacking an Auror."

Ginny nodded brusquely, her arms coming down from their perch. "I understand."

"Although I was impressed by the hex you sent his way. It was—repulsive."

Lucius darted a look at her. "Ginevra—good lord, was it your Bat hex?"

"Bat _Bogey_ Hex." She frowned at Lucius. "I know it sounds childish, but it's _awful_." Suddenly, she smiled. "I practiced on my brothers."

Robards stifled a sound that sounded like a laugh.

"Can I go?"

"You can, if you promise to keep your curses away from my Aurors in the future."

Ginny pursed her lips, looking as though she wished to argue with him, but Robards raised his eyebrows at her, and Lucius had placed a large, warm hand in the centre of her back, so Ginny jerked her head again, sticking out her hand. Robards shook it firmly, and she turned to walk out of the cell.

"Oh—Ms. Weasley."

Ginny turned back.

"You should talk with your brother."

"Which _one_, Auror Robards?" Here voice was strong. "There are quite a few of them, as I recall."

"The _Auror _one." Robards narrowed his eyes. "He might be able to tell you why your new _boyfriend's_ house is always being searched. Or maybe not." He shrugged. "But I think you should talk with him about it either way."

Ginny clenched her jaw, feeing the grit of her teeth grind into each other. Lucius's face had become immobile and stony.

She nodded.

"I'll do that."

And with that statement hanging heavily in the air of the holding cell, Ginny and Lucius left, his hand across her back, her jaw tight.

---

As soon as they were outside and settled in the plush benches of his carriage, Lucius turned to her.

"What the _hell_ happened?"

Ginny winced, running a hand through her hair. He seemed irritated, but mainly he seemed tired, his eyes half-closed as the coach took off—through the air—back to the Manor.

"I'm sorry, Lucius. I just got so angry." His eyes had slipped closed. "They were back at the Manor, ready to terrorize, and when that one blockhead called me 'the whore'—" She sighed. "I lost my temper."

"Hm." He hummed a low response, his eyes still shut. "And you slung a Bat Bogey Hex at him?"

Ginny nodded, and then realised that he couldn't see her. "Yes."

"And they took you into custody?"

"Yes. It's standard protocol for anyone who attacks an Auror. Robards, luckily, levelled the charges because of the insult." Ginny lowered her head. "I got so angry that they were back at the Manor, trying to terrorize you again. I just kept thinking _how dare they_, and I hadn't duelled in so long, Lucius. So long."

_the waving flair of the hand, fluid on top of the wrist, the bellow of energy that travels through the body when the aim is set in motion, the absolute power_ —

"I'm sorry." She spoke softly.

Lucius sighed and replied, his eyes still closed. "The media is going to have a _field day_ with this."

"I know. I know that irritates you—I know it's your least favourite thing, the media. I'm so sorry."

"I'm mainly glad that you're safe. Coming home to the Manor at three in the morning—with Balius in such a state—and you not there. I was—I was worried."

"You were scared," Ginny said, feeling a thousand times more awful. "I didn't even think what it would be like for you. I just acted on my impulses—my anger."

"Which is part of the reason why I adore being with you so much." A slight smile was around his mouth, his eyes still closed. "I may be an old stick-in-the-mud _now_, but I was young and vital once too. I remember how _pleasurable_ duelling was—the power that one felt while doing it—I remember what it felt like to give into anger. Wonderful. Come here." He extended his arm out, and Ginny slid along the seat, leaning into him, turning her face in to his travelling cloak, smelling smoke and salt and spice. "Just be careful about how much anger you act on." He breathed. "But I'm thinking that you should talk to your _brother_." He said the word brother as one would say an expletive—heavy and as though the word tasted foul and sharp.

Ginny could feel his chest tense and angry under her hands.

"I sure as hell will," she muttered. "I don't even—I haven't talked to him since the night I told the entire family. This might explain some things. I really, truly hope he isn't behind this. Ron is—Ron was my closest friend in the family. He was closest to me in age, and he protected me—too much at times, but protected me nonetheless." Ginny winced. "God, I hope he isn't behind this. But if he is—if he is—I'll kill him."

---

Lucius hadn't even removed his clothing. He had simply fallen face-first onto the bed—on top of the bedclothes, his travelling gloves still on. Ginny had taken his shoes off, and had struggled with his cloak before giving up and just lying down beside him, still in her dress from lunch, her legs curled up under her, an arm thrown across his back.

---

"Good morning." Ginny was sitting at the dressing table, brushing out her hair and starting to plait it.

Lucius cracked an eye open.

"You're going to have sleep-lines all over your face from the coverlet." She turned to him. "I tried to get you under the covers but you're too heavy for me. And I was afraid that if I rolled you, you would roll off the bed."

He raised his head. "What time is it?" His voice sounded smudged.

"Ten o'clock. Here are the papers." She held up the Daily Prophet. "I didn't make the front page on this one, thank god. Cuffe owled me this morning to reprimand me thoroughly for my 'reprehensible behaviour', but then amended that since my 'antics' are selling more papers, he can't fire me. Charming." She set the Prophet down and picked up The Quibbler. "I'm the front page on this one, but the article seems to take my side. Bless the influence of Luna. Witch Weekly, however, is the worst. The writers seem to agree that I am, in fact, a whore." She set all of the papers all down on the loveseat beside her, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "Annoying."

Lucius blinked twice and made a grunting sound.

"Sorry—you haven't woken up properly yet." Ginny high-stepped over to the bed, and sat beside him. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"

There was an unintelligible noise from beside her.

"Come on. Take your outerwear off and I'll work the kinks out from your shoulders." She struggled with his cloak, only managing it when he partially lifted his torso. "Shirt too." He mumbled something but undid the buttons, letting her pull it out from under him.

Ginny straddled his naked waist, a pale calf pressing into his bare sides, his ribs, and she began to knead at his trapezius muscles. "You're tight." Lucius responded by groaning into the mattress. She continued. "Was the meeting that stressful?"

"No," he murmured, his voice muffled by the linens. "Not so much. We worked it out. The travelling took it out of me, though. And I had odd dreams last night. And—I was worried about you until I knew where you were."

She bent to kiss him at the back of his neck. He shifted underneath her.

"I don't care about the papers," he said.

"Me neither."

She dug her thumbs into the thick muscles of his back, relishing the jump of his skin underneath her hands. He made a moaning sound, and burrowed his head farther into the linens.

"I have to work these knots out," she murmured, flexing her fingers against him, feeling the cords of muscle yield under her hands. His skin was so hot—scorching, really—and it warmed her from her thighs, her calves, beneath her nightgown, along her forearms.

Ginny slid forward along his body, resting her head on the broadest part of his naked back, between his shoulder blades, her entire body resting along his. She sighed, and kissed his skin again, turning her head and settling her cheek on his back. Her hands trailed up and down his sides absentmindedly.

Lucius hummed in pleasure beneath her.

"Did you get rid of your birth control potion?"

When he spoke, her entire body buzzed with it.

"Yes," she breathed, biting his ear lightly.

There was another beat of silence until Ginny spoke again.

"How's your bum?"

He actually burst out laughing at her comment, and only answered when Ginny reached down and pinched him.

"Uncomfortable. Why do you think I'm sleeping on my front? Now your heavy body is on top of it—all my poor bruises. The salt miners thought I was insane—I stood through all of the meetings"

She flicked his ear. "Don't be rude."

He turned under her, setting her in the same straddling position on his lower torso.

"Two nights ago was wonderful, Ginevra. Thank you. I'm thrilled that we mesh so well together when it comes to the more alternative side of sex. I haven't been whipped like that in ages. It was delicious." He pulled her down to his face, kissing her deeply, thrusting his tongue inside of her mouth and holding her face in place with a broad palm on each side of her jaw. Ginny whimpered softly against him, immobile against his onslaught.

He released her face, running his hands up along the silk of her sleepwear, tugging and pulling the nightgown off of her. He threw it to the side, letting it flutter down to the floor beside the bed, and lifted his hips obligingly as she undid his pants and slid them off, re-settling into her position from before. Lucius kissed her again, his hands settling on her waist.

"Ride me," he murmured, and she used her hands to slide him inside of her, gasping as he used his feet—flattened out on the bed— as leverage to push up farther into her—so far it was nearly uncomfortable, nearly painful, but not quite, not yet.

Ginny leaned forward, letting him wrap his arms around her back and tangle his hands in her hair, and let him dictate the thrusts. He used his legs to power into her waiting body, her mouth becoming lost in his hair, trailing along his ears and neck, his own lips across her jaw.

They moved together silently, the only sounds punctuating the deep quiet being Lucius' slight exhales and soft grunts and the light catches of Ginny's voice along her throat. She was content to let him dictate the pace and the thrusts, and Lucius was relishing in having his hands all over her skin after being away from her.

On a particularly hard thrust, Ginny cried out into his ear, and Lucius came alive below her, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, slowing her movements, lifting her off of his length, his spine straight. Ginny sat back, legs askew, between his thighs, looking at him quizzically, the flesh between her legs pink and moist and unsatisfied.

"Lie back," he said, and she complied wordlessly, settling back on the bed between the vee of his outstretched legs. He took her calves and set them on his shoulders, and pulled at her hips, moving her closer to him, he still sitting upright and she supine between his thighs.

Lucius spat copiously into his hand and rubbed it along his cock, mixing the saliva with her arousal.

Ginny waited, breathless.

When he lined himself up against her anus and began to rock his hips forward, Ginny cried out.

"Relax," he soothed, a thumb circling down along her mons and across her clitoris. She closed her eyes and tried to release her tensed muscles as he prodded against her, one hand gripping her hips tightly, the other hand teasing her.

"I'm relaxed," she breathed back, a hand coming down to grip at the arm that was holding her still.

As she suddenly released her muscles and bore out against him, he surged his pelvis forward, and suddenly they melted together, Lucius sliding all the way into her, deep and hot, pushing past her querulous muscles, his hips against her buttocks and his grip tightening on her flesh.

Ginny opened and closed her mouth again and again, soundless at the feeling of him so deep inside of her. Her head was tossed back, her neck forming an arch along the bed sheets.

Lucius closed his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply through his nose, and when he opened his eyes, he looked down between their bodies.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and began to rock his hips forward, his hands trailing up to grip at her thighs.

Ginny made an intensely guttural sound as Lucius pulled out nearly all the way, bending his head forward to spit on his length again, using the tips of his fingers to spread it around. When he pushed back in, she cried out, grabbing at his knees, feeling the tensed muscles there.

He started slow but his thrusts became deep and jarring, each withdrawal leaving Ginny gasping and each plunge back in moving her across the sheets, her breasts bouncing, his eyes tacked to her nipples.

She drew a hand down between her legs and began to circle her clitoris.

"Jesus, Lucius—" Her voice was hoarse and her fingers fast.

"How does it feel?" He sounded nearly desperate, his head dropping forward. "God, I'm going to come soon. I'm not going to last. I'm not going to last. You're so tight—so hot—your ass is so goddamned _tight_."

"So deep—it's almost too deep—I don't know—it's good and it's painful, both at the same time—" Ginny's eyes were on him, and his fingers tightened, digging into her flesh. "You're the only man I've ever let do this to me—"

Lucius grunted and withdrew, turning her over so quickly she didn't have time to react, putting her on her hands and knees, rearing up on his own knees, and thrusting back inside of her so rapidly that the breath was knocked out of her.

His thrusts were hard and aggressive, one of his hands wrapped in her hair, forcing her head back and up, the grip so tight that she couldn't even turn to watch him. She realised that this was his way of taking out his anger and fear about the Aurors—if he couldn't establish his supremacy over them, if he couldn't sway them into bending to his will, if he had to just bear their onslaught quietly, then he was going to use her to boost his ego and his pride. And she was just fine with that.

"Oh god, fuck me. _Fuck_ me," she hissed, and her fingers dug into the bedspread as his other hand slid between her legs, rubbing mercilessly. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours, _I'm yours_." She was chanting, now, and suddenly he straightened behind her, his hips jerking gracelessly, and then she felt him come inside of her, nearly stinging her. His hand continued its ministrations even through his orgasm, and she came just after him, her back arching up as a cat might, her anal muscles contracting and releasing so viciously that he actually cried out in near pain behind her.

Lucius slid out of her heavily, biting the top of her buttocks lightly, blowing lightly on her reddened entrance, and Ginny made a tortured sound, falling forward.

"Now we'll both have trouble sitting," he mumbled, licking across her skin where her buttocks met her thighs.

"Bad man," she murmured weakly, turning to face him, still on her back. He lowered himself to her, rubbing his softening length against her mons shamelessly. "No chance for a baby this time, though."

"We'll try again."

---

She winced as she sat down in the chair for dinner.

When she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a chortle coming from opposite her, she looked up. Lucius was grinning at her from across the table.

"If that was just a game of tit-for-tat, it was the most perverted one I've ever played," she said.

"Oh," he said suddenly. "Did you talk with Ms. Granger?"

Ginny looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "Yes, actually. But firstly—were you kind to her when she Floo called?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows.

"_Lucius_."

"I was cordial, albeit somewhat cool."

"What did you _say_? She said you were fine to her, but—"

"She did?" His face relaxed into an interesting mix of partial revulsion, partial pride. "I was mainly impressed that she had the bravery to call the Manor. That took a great deal of courage, I thought. More courage than she even displayed in our drawing room, here—that night." Ginny shivered. "I simply told her that you were still asleep."

"I'm assuming that you alluded to our activities the night before." Ginny arched an eyebrow at him.

Lucius smirked. "Not the _exact_ activities, but yes, I'm sure she had an inkling of why you were still asleep at ten-thirty in the morning. It didn't seem to shake her, though."

"She's not as much of a prude as you might have thought she is." Ginny took another spoonful of her soup.

"She could always join us."

Ginny spat her soup out into her bowl, looking up at her smiling partner. "All right, Lucius. Why don't you ask a Muggleborn to share your bed? Not bloody likely."

"You're right. I don't want to be around her more than necessary."

Ginny tilted her head at him. "Don't be so rude. You're going to have to see her quite a bit, especially if I'm going to be carrying your child."

He sighed. "I know that you're right. I'm working against decades of rearing, here, and I'm trying. I realise that she is one of your closest female friends, and I appreciate her efforts to be civil to me and to accept our relationship." He wiped his mouth.

"She won't take any of your shit, you realise. She smacked your son across the face when she was only thirteen. Apparently he nearly cried. And she reclaimed the term 'Mudblood.' Because she never really knew about the word before coming to Hogwarts, it doesn't hold as much weight for her."

"I don't blame her for hitting Draco. He was insufferable at that age."

Ginny snorted. "He was insufferable from age eleven through to seventeen. And probably beyond."

"True." Lucius exhaled. "I won't try to bait her."

"You will, regardless."

"Yes, but I won't _try_."

Ginny shook her head. "If it comes down to it, you just might have to absent when she visits."

Lucius' face turned a bit pale at the thought of Hermione Granger being back in the Manor. "We'll play it by ear. I was civil to her when we spoke."

"Yes, she seemed rather surprised at that."

"It's going to take me a while, Ginevra." His face was honest, now. "I will do everything I can to keep you in my life and to keep you happy, but I know that this will take me a while to cope with."

"I know," she sighed. "That's why I'm unsure if my family will ever come around to me—with you—they are considerably more short-tempered than Hermione. And Harry—"

Lucius made a sound of revulsion in his throat.

Ginny scowled. "What?"

"Potter."

"_Potter_ is, so far, the person who best accepts our relationship. I cannot afford to picky, here." Ginny dropped her head forward into her heads, scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. "And I cannot disregard him just because you hate him."

"I dislike him far more than Miss Granger. And that carries weight, because Potter has a better birth status than she does." Lucius frowned, his mouth turning down. "I hate him because he—"

"—Had me first." Ginny met his eyes. "And don't lie. That's the goddamned reason."

"Partly," he replied stiltedly. "I hate him because he was better than Draco, and because he was better than _me_, and because he caused so much grief for the family—"

"You caused your _own_ grief!" Ginny stood up, her voice elevating to a shriek as she unwittingly upset her soup bowl, the bisque spreading out in a red stain across the tablecloth. Lucius stared at her, his face impassive. "You caused your own grief, Lucius Malfoy. And now I'm sick of talking to you about this, because you clearly can't even fathom blaming yourself, which surprises me considering all of the things you told me that one night—in the bath, in the bed."

She strode out of the dining room, her eyes glittering hard with tears.

He toyed with the silverware.

---

She heard him as he came into the bedroom, the sliver of pale hallway light falling across the carpeted floor. She didn't turn to look at him, still on her side as though she were sleeping. Ginny heard him freeze as he entered the room, as though he weren't expecting her to be in their bed.

He took his time disrobing, shutting doors slowly, carefully, walking softly as though not to wake her, although she was sure that he knew she was not asleep—he had senses like someone supernatural.

The bed depressed behind her, the warm, deep scent of him enveloping her body.

Ginny sighed. He ran a warm palm down the curving side length of her body, then slipped that arm around her waist.

She remained turned away from him.

"I'm sorry." The words were spoken into her ear, and she sighed again. "I can never seem to apologize to you by the light of day. It's always by night. By dark. I suppose that makes me cowardly in some way."

"At least you apologize," she murmured.

He pressed his body against hers. "I'll try harder."

"Your pride, Lucius. It will be your downfall."

"I know," he replied, his voice low, his arm tightening around her waist, his hands turning her toward him. "You shouldn't cry because of me." His rough thumbs brushed away her tears.

"I don't mean to. I don't cry very often, anyway." She exhaled shakily and let herself be pliable for him. He tucked her head in beneath his chin, kissing her hair.

"Don't leave me." His words were whispered but she caught them.

"I don't think I can."

It wasn't a definite no, and Lucius could hear the warning underneath her softly spoken words, but for the moment, she was accepting his shortcomings, and he drew her back into him, cradling her buttocks with the sharp angles of his pelvis and hips, kneading a hand through her hair, listening to her breathing until she fell asleep.

---

The next day, Ginny showed up at the Auror Academy.

When Ron ambled out of the offices onto the training field, her breath caught in her throat. It had been a while since she had seen him, and he had changed—or maybe he hadn't, but he looked different, taller, more burnished, more vibrant. He was laughing at something that one of his colleagues was saying, and he looked good. He looked _well_. Ginny was simultaneously saddened by the loss of her brother in her life, and happy for his new gains, his new career, his new life.

When he saw her, he stopped short.

"Hi," Ginny murmured.

His colleagues melted away tactfully, mumbling excuses, and the two of them were left facing each other on the training field, Ron's soft, short hair moving in the breeze, her long curls whipping around her face.

He said nothing, but his lower lip shook slightly, and Ginny ached to see it.

"I'm here—" She cleared her throat and started again. "I'm here to ask you about the recent Auror raids on the Manor, Ron."

He was still impassive, staring back at her.

"Robards told me to ask you about them, and I wanted to know if you had anything to do with them, or—or—anything" She finished lamely and found that she couldn't look him in the face—she had to stare at the earth.

"Yes," he said, his voice somehow lower than she remembered, gruffer, more like a man—

"Yes?" She lifted her head, her eyes stinging.

"Partially," he mumbled.

"_Why_?" Her voice sounded tortured and fraught, and even he winced to hear it.

"Because I _hate him_," he suddenly yelled at her, and Ginny started, her eyes widening at his tone. "I _hate_ him—" and his voice was lowered to a hissing level, and there were tears in his eyes, maybe, and Ginny reached out to touch his face, and he jerked away. "Don't—don't do that."

"Ron," she began, but he shook his head so quickly he was almost a blur. "Ron. You can't _do_ that. Do you know that they came last night?"

He nodded tersely.

"And do you know that I ended up in a Ministry holding cell because I hexed one?" Her voice was rising, frantic and loud. "Because I hexed one! Because he called me a _whore_, Ron. Because they all laughed at me, and I was alone, on the doorstep, surrounded by men who I didn't know. And why? Because _you_ sent them? Because _you_ tipped them off to the Manor, told them to come? To harass Lucius and therefore also harass me? I don't—I can't—" She shook her head, tears tracking down her face. "You may think I'm a whore too, but no one can say that. Nobody can say that."

Ron winced.

"I miss you so much," she whispered. "But I'm not leaving Lucius either. And it's not going away, so you have to deal with it, or you have to leave me alone forever. _Forever_." She straightened her spine and wiped roughly at her tears. "And I refuse to cry over this anymore. I've done too much of that since mum slapped me."

He flinched again, and then spoke quietly. "I don't think you're a whore. I just think that I've lost my sister."

"I was lost when I was eleven, Ron. No, I was lost when Harry came into the picture. Or I was lost even when I was born. Youngest sibling, all boys, only girl, older brother one of the Golden Trio, friend of Harry Potter, ex-girlfriend of Harry Potter—I was always lost. Can't you see that?"

When he didn't answer, she sighed.

"Please don't send the Aurors anymore. Please. And—and—you know that I'm only an owl away. Really. I miss you." She grabbed at his hand and held it, hard, for a split second before dropping it.

Her hair blew wildly as she walked away, billowing out behind her in red whorls, and Ron could catch the scent of her on the air. When he blinked, the tears came.


	35. Chapter 34

"We're going out to lunch today."

Lucius looked up from where he had been reading the Saturday newspaper. He looked like the picture of leisure—his feet up on a footstool, his hair down and over his shoulders, his dressing gown still on. Ginny was jotting down notes for a new article for the Prophet, wearing one of his button-up shirts only halfway done.

"We are?" He sounded surprised but not aggravated, and Ginny took that as a sign to proceed.

"Yes. We're meeting Hermione at the Three Broomsticks."

He dropped his cup of tea on the rug.

"What? _Lucius_—you have to meet her at some point." Ginny put down her pencil and looked at him. "She's the only one level-headed enough to even _consider_ accepting this. And she's—was—is—one of my closest friends."

"I—know," he said, his face immobile.

"Lucius—please," she said, her mouth dropping as she realised that facilitating a civil meeting between the two of them was not going to be as easy as she had first thought. "Please, I'm asking you—pleading with you—please don't be so rude to her."

He was silent.

Ginny stood up and walked over to him, perching on his lap, the terrain of her fresh thighs showing as his shirt rode up. She placed a hand on either side of his face and tilted it up.

"Please. For me. You just have to be civil. Silent, even. She's not expecting a miracle, not from you. But," she said, tracing the full bloom of his lower lip with her pointer finger, running the tip inside his hot mouth and clicking her nail along the crenellations of his teeth. "But I want you to be civil. Concentrate on her intelligence and her wit, not her blood. Not her blood." She kissed him slowly, keeping her eyes open, watching him.

His hands fisted in the shirt, shaking with effort.

"Fine," he said, as she pulled away. "Fine." His jaw was tight.

"Oh, I know. I know it's frustrating for you to go out—which makes you anxious—and to be with a _Mudblood_, but you fucked _this_ blood traitor and now you have to deal with the consequences." She kissed him again. "Also, you taste nice this morning." Ginny licked his lower lip.

"Darjeeling. Not Earl Grey." He tilted over without moving her from his lap and fished a finger around, hooking it in the upset teacup and picking it up delicately. He frowned at the spill on the carpet. "Damn."

Ginny wound her arms around his neck and pressed her torso into his, and he grudgingly straightened up, looking her in the eye.

"I'll try my hardest to be civil. Somewhat civil. I'm—I should apologise ahead of time in case I do or say anything grievous."

"You're good at self control. Just don't do it," Ginny said seriously.

He sighed. "You're right."

"Think of this as the biggest and ultimate task to complete in order for me to stay in your life." She looked at him solemnly. He didn't flinch. "I'm lonely for my friends. I miss Hermione. I love you," and here she rubbed her face against him, like a cat, "but I miss them. I miss them. And this is the first step. Please be good. Please be good."

He nodded tersely.

"It wasn't too much of a fight to get me to move in here. To live with you. To change my life. And now you are going to change yours." His body tensed. "Yes, change. I know it's especially hard for you because you're—"

"Don't say _older_."

"I was going to say steeped in tradition. You had a rearing that I can't even imagine—so different from mine. I was raised in a topsy-turvy house, with Dad tinkering with Muggle electronics all over the place, and Mum accepting anyone and everyone in for dinner. And while we were flawed in other ways, we never were racist like your family was. Never." She was quiet. "I miss my dad." Ginny looked at him. "Why do you hate my dad so much?"

Lucius shifted, and she could feel his heart race against her fingers. "I don't—I don't _hate_ him. Not anymore. Back when you were so little—back when you were eleven—in the bookstore—frustration. Vitriol. Some things date back farther than you, Ginevra. At that time, I was angry at his constant raiding of my house, his disrupting of my family. If Arthur couldn't physically get back at me, he could at least embarrass my family over and over again with the raids. And I was angry at him for that. At his protection of the Muggles."

"Why Muggles?"

"Because I didn't want them in our world. I still don't, really. I think they weaken the links of wizarding society—with their vacant stares and inane questions and their fear of us—they were the ones who _burnt_ witches at the stake. They were the ones who drowned witches. They were the ones who pressed wizards to death between stones. There has always been such a stupid religious fervour in their kind."

"Not all are like that, Lucius."

"The ones who murdered earlier parts of my family were. And I'm sure that your _mum_ and _dad_ have some relatives who were killed by Muggles at some point." His mouth was tight.

"I know that they have some relatives who were killed by Death Eaters, too."

The change in his face was instantaneous. His eyes flicked up to hers and his mouth relaxed, the blood flowing back to his lips, making them appear fuller than usual. He looked like a watercolour painting. "There you have it," he breathed quietly.

"But if we rehash history we are going to be here for a while." Ginny drummed her fingers on his shoulder. So you're afraid? Of Muggles?" Ginny gave him a questioning look.

"Well—" He looked uncomfortable. "No." She raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm not scared of much, Ginevra. I've seen things—" he looked away, here "—things that are a thousand times worse than what I told you about Azkaban." She continued staring at him solemnly and questioningly. Lucius sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, his mouth dropping low in the corners. "Fine. I suppose—in a way—fear of change. Anger and fear combined." He gritted his teeth as though he were ashamed to admit it.

"Well, Hermione's not going to layer boulders across your chest. And her parents aren't going to lash me to a stake, either."

"I know that," he snapped. "I'm not daft enough to think that such Draconian measures would be taken nowadays, but there would still be—you know that they hate people who are different from them."

"But you're doing the same thing," she said. "You hate them because they are different."

"It was started by them. It's _history_."

"This is circular. I can't keep up," she said, shaking her head. "Although I have a bit more insight into your extreme distaste for Muggles."

"Why should they be able to infiltrate our world—take away opportunities from our community, our children, things that we have worked so hard to maintain? We were forced into hiding. We were persecuted. And we managed to thrive, even from depleted numbers, and grow again, and keep our witches and wizards safe. Why would _anyone_ want to marry one of the people who wanted us dead and gone? Why would _anyone_ welcome a random Muggleborn into our world? It amazes me."

"I know I'm Pureblood. Did that play a part in your acceptance of me?"

There was the question he had been anticipating for a long time.

"Yes."

He had to answer honestly.

She didn't look surprised or offended. Instead, she nodded. It was as if Ginny had known all along.

"But it's not one of the reasons I'm attracted to you," she replied.

"I can't—the Malfoys were raised to believe that Muggles and therefore Muggleborns were inferior. Haven't you ever had that thought, Ginevra? Honestly—deeply, darkly—haven't you ever believed that, for one moment?"

"Yes," she said honestly. "When such stereotypes and racism exist, it's hard not to ever be influenced by it. And since there are so many Pureblooded families present in our world, the ideology stays strong. So yes, of course the thought has crossed my mind. But the thing is, Lucius—I never acted on it. I consciously pushed those thoughts out of my mind. And you've changed me—and now it's time for me to change you, too."

"How have I changed you?"

Ginny smiled. "You just have." She wound a piece of his hair around her fingers.

"That's not very helpful," he groused, trying to smack her hand away. "Leave my hair alone."

"I'm not the little sister around you—you don't treat me like some stupid little flower." She tugged on his hair.

"You—a delicate flower?" He snorted.

Ginny twisted his nipple and Lucius hissed.

"Don't be rude. You just treat me like an equal. And an adult—which I am. But people always look at me as the addendum to the Golden Trio, and as the youngest, and the baby, and the girl. You don't."

"Because you aren't."

"And you talk with me. And you touch me the way I want to be touched. And you let me yell. That's the most important to me. You let me get angry, and you let me take my anger out on you, and you accept it and weather it and then let me apologise and take it in stride. No one has ever welcomed the anger before." She looked thoughtful. "I've always been discouraged from being angry. Ever since first year. I didn't nearly have the right to be angry, growing up with the huge family that I did. There was always something else to deal with—some other crisis, some other event, some other sibling that deserved it more. But you weather me. You weather me." She was raking her nails lightly over his scalp. Lucius had his eyes closed, leaning into her touch. "Is that unhealthy?"

"I don't know."

"No, me neither. But I'm happy," she said, still looking thoughtful, frowning slightly at him.

"I'm happy, too."

"And I'll be happiest when I can factor my friends back into this."

He looked at her, and Ginny was taken aback by the set of his eyes. He seemed to be afraid, nearly—nervous about something, as though she would somehow end up coming to her senses and listening to her friends' complaints about him and that would be that. She wondered if he was going to say something. His hands loosened and he nodded.

"All right. All right, yes. What time are we leaving?"

She kissed his brow. "In an hour. Good?"

"Good."

---

Ginny was amazed at his ability to seem imperious in any circumstance—even in the melee of the pub, Lucius glided through the crowd, people parting for him like frothy seas. She followed in his wake, trying to ignore the pointed and incredulous looks that were being thrown her way. She certainly still got glares and stares when she went out in public, so the event of two of them being out together was sending people into overdrive. She held onto the back of his robes.

"Good grief, Lucius. Everyone is staring."

"What did you _expect_?" He snarled his words at her from the very corner of his mouth, and her hands curled into the back of his robes. She felt childlike and very young, as though she were following in the footsteps of her father, not her lover.

"I know," she murmured, her voice low. As one older woman threw her a dirty look, Ginny straightened up and glared at her. "What are _you_ staring at?" Her voice sounded like Lucius' had—snarling—and the woman scowled deeper and then looked away. Ginny sighed, and noticed that he was looking back at her over his shoulder, an amused expression on his face. "And what are _you_ looking at, Malfoy?"

"Don't take your stress out on me. This lunch—in a public place—was your idea."

"I know," she said, rubbing at her head. He had turned back around and was moving forward toward the tables at the back. "I just didn't want to bring her to the Manor, and I doubted that you wanted to go to her house."

"Fair enough," he said.

Lucius stopped, suddenly, and Ginny was pressed up against his back.

"Miss Granger."

---

He looked down at her—the one with the tainted blood—sitting at the table, and he felt many things. He felt frustrated because he knew that his partner wanted him to be able to be friends with the woman, and he wasn't sure that that was at all possible. He felt aversion—aversion to actually sitting down at the table with her, aversion to talking with her, aversion—and this surprised him—to _sharing_ Ginny with her. And then he felt curiosity—interest in the girl that Draco had complained about for so many years, and interest in her purported intelligence and quick wit and rules-oriented work ethic.

And so Lucius Malfoy stared down at Hermione Granger with the oddest look on his face—a slightly curled lip but panicked eyes.

"It's lovely to see you too, Lucius." Hermione met his stare head-on, and when Lucius visibly flinched at the sound of his given name coming from her lips, she only smiled and looked beyond him. "Did you bring Ginny, or is it to be just us for lunch today? I'm not sure I could handle the pleasure of that."

Ginny poked her head out from around his body. "Don't tease him so, Hermione." She was gently chiding, but sat down. "Do you want to sit, Lucius?" She had a lightly smiling mouth, and extended her hand up to him, her eyes soft.

He grimaced but lowered himself onto the bench beside her, Hermione sitting in the chair across the table from them. Ginny placed a reassuring hand on his upper thigh, squeezing slightly, and turned her face briefly into his neck, forgetting where they were, kissing his skin lightly, right against the galloping pulse point. _He was nervous_. Ginny realised it, and felt warmth for him, stroking her hand up along the delicate skin of his wrist. When he jolted, slightly, she remembered where they were and drew back.

"Sorry," she whispered at him, smiling, tugging lightly on a piece of his hair.

Hermione watched the interaction with an unidentifiable look on her face, noting Lucius' light flush and softened mouth, and Ginny's smile.

There was silence for a beat. Lucius was between looking gently at Ginny and then glaring at Hermione, who in turn was looking mildly back at him. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"Well, it's been a while since we've actually spoken, Lucius. When was the last time? The Ministry of Magic—the prophecy thing?"

Ginny put her hand to her forehead, shaking her head. "Hermione."

His jaw clenched. "Yes. I believe so." The softness around his mouth was gone.

Hermione stared hard at him, and he looked back at her. Ginny watched the two of them, and realised how similar they were. She could, startlingly, picture them as a couple—the fighting would be tremendous but the discussions passionate and spirited. The thought made her smile.

"Why are you grinning like the village idiot?" Hermione turned and asked her the question mildly.

"I was just thinking that you two would be an interesting couple."

The tenseness was shattered. Hermione threw her head back and laughed, the riot of curls falling down across her shoulders, and Lucius looked equally distressed, offended at Hermione's mirthful reaction, and curious.

"What's so hilarious?" His voice was snippy.

"You're a nice-looking man, Lucius, but I hardly think you would tolerate a Mudblood in your ancestral home," Hermione said, soberly.

"You shouldn't assume what others think," he said laconically, picking up his menu. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny.

There was another moment of thick silence.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?"

Lucius looked up and blinked as Hermione suddenly directed the question at him.

"Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Because it seems like a mild question to ask, and it steers clears of wizarding eugenics and any other touchy subject. And because you have a Quidditch build."

He looked like he was about to smile but was struggling not to. Lucius inclined his head slightly.

"I was a Beater."

"I didn't know that," Ginny exclaimed, turning to him.

"You never asked," he replied, smiling slightly at her. "I played for three years, actually. I had good reflexes back then."

"Oh, you still have fine reflexes. Quit with the 'I'm decrepit' act." She paused. "Do you still have the uniform?"

"You two are interesting to watch," Hermione said calmly. "I would have never imagined it like this, actually."

"What," Lucius said. "Did you expect me to have locked her away in a tower?" He scowled, and Ginny was amazed at how quickly his mood could change in reaction to Hermione.

"I'd have expected for you to at least be emotionally abusive. I suppose you still could be—just not in the public eye. But something tells me—" Here she pressed her steepled fingertips to her mouth. "Something tells me that you two are more equal than I would have expected."

"Yes," Ginny said softly, leaning slightly into his body, feeling the scorching warmth of him up and down the broad length of her side. Lucius slid his hand under her robe and clasped her hand, almost desperately, like a man drowning. His fingers wound around hers, and she rubbed her thumb over the hot skin of his hand.

"Did you want some more time?" The waiter had appeared above them, and Ginny was struck with the similarities between the present meal and her past date with Hermione.

With the food on its way, the silence descended again. Lucius was looking up at the ceiling. Hermione was looking at Lucius. Ginny was leaned against his shoulder, looking at the crowd of people, scowling at anyone who glared at the odd trio.

"Hermione—tell us what you're working on at the Ministry right now," Ginny said softly, breaking the quiet.

"Er—I'm actually starting in the Beings Division of the Department—in the next few weeks. And I'm looking into writing a dissertation on Magizoology and the flaws within the practice."

Lucius looked thoughtful. The food was delivered

"I'm just looking for a few earlier versions of Elfrida Clagg's theses on the subject. I want to focus on the Jarvey rebellion and the ghost walk-out. In particular, I'm looking for her 1645 treatise on Merpeople mating habits and linguistics."

"I have that." Lucius' voice was calm and clear.

Hermione dropped her fork into her plate. "You do?"

"Yes." He was eating nonchalantly.

"Do you have her accompanying book on Troll dispute and discussion?"

"Yes."

"Lucius," Ginny laughed. "She's going to have a stroke if you don't say something else."

He sighed. "I don't particularly want you in my library."

"Fine. I don't care how I get them." Hermione was rubbing her hands together. "Ginny can bring them to me. I don't care."

"Yes, I'll do it," Ginny said, squeezing Lucius' hand as her heart swelled at his stunted attempt at civility.

Lucius sighed again. "I'm very, very grudgingly impressed that you are aware and interested in the books. I tried to get Draco to read them, once, and he got bored and started to doodle on the pages." He grimaced. "He was nearly twenty but I almost spanked him."

Hermione chuckled, and the sound brought him back to reality.

"We'll see—I have to find them first. If I do, I'll—"

"_Fucking Mudblood filth_."

The reprehensible words came from above them. Lucius stopped in the middle of talking. Hermione's eyes drifted up almost lazily, her gaze calm. Ginny's head jerked up indignantly, her hair flinging. The two women stared at the man above them—he was close in age to them, long and dark hair pulled back into a queue, his eyes slanted angrily, dark, thick eyebrows stark in his face.

The silence that followed the statement was different from the previous silences. Hermione seemed not resigned but resolute, while Ginny's quiet was of a completely different nature—she was enraged, and going over the things to say to the interloper in her mind. Lucius was quiet, his eyes still down, his body languid, and Ginny could not read him in that moment.

Hermione sighed tiredly. Ginny's hand tightened on her wand, and she made her decision, standing quickly, whipping her wand out in front of her, holding it steady, pointing at his throat.

"Leave," she said firmly.

The man barked a laugh. "You slutty blood traitor." Ginny didn't respond, merely drew breath as if to curse him.

"I wouldn't trifle with her, Jugson." Lucius' voice came up, cool and placid, from between the standoff. He was still sitting, leaning back against the seat, and he flicked his eyes up to the man. "Hm." Lucius made a sound of thought. "You're shorter than your father."

"You shut up about my father. He died in Azkaban while you went free, you fucking faggot!"

Ginny's breath skipped a beat at the name-calling.

"And for what? So you can ponce around in your fucking velvet waistcoats and fuck a dirty blood traitor and eat—eat _lunch_—with a filthy fucking Mudblood?"

Suddenly, Lucius stood, and drew himself up to his entire and full height, pushing Ginny behind his body, and she, enveloped in the black folds of his robes, was struck with how illuminated and frightening and striking he could be when he wanted to. Back home, in the Manor, he was casual and half-buttoned, his hair loose and staticky. Here, in the middle of the pub, he was towering, lithe and yet immeasurably strong, his hair pulled back tightly, his eyes absolutely furious. It was as though some sort of blackened energy was radiating out from him, a wayward halo, pure and threatening, and he leaned toward the man.

"Leave," he hissed, replicating her words from earlier, and it sounded like bells and snakes and rock ripping, and Ginny darted a look at Hermione, who was sitting agog, her mouth open, her hand on her wand still.

Lucius hadn't even brought his wand out, although Ginny was sure that his hand—somewhere in his voluminous robe—was curled around it, and that his fingers were itching to strike—and she almost wanted him to, she almost wanted to see him lash out like she knew he could, arms coiled and finessed, beautiful—

Jugson made a choked, angry sound in his throat, made as if to grab his wand, darted a look around at the rest of the pub—and then seemed to think, briefly, and turned to Lucius and spat a thick wad of spit on his boots. He then snapped his teeth at Hermione and Ginny and left.

The entire pub had fallen quiet, watching them.

Lucius drew himself up again, and pivoted slowly on his heel, looking at everyone in the room with a look that dared—just _dared_—someone to speak, and then sat back down on the bench, pulling Ginny gently in beside him. As he fished a handkerchief out from his robes, the clatter rose gradually again, and the pub went back to its business.

"Disgusting," he muttered, wiping the spit off of his boots.

"Was that—was he related to the Jugson from the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione had regained her power of speech.

"Yes," Lucius said, incinerating the used handkerchief with his wand and watching it burn on the empty plate. When he looked up at Hermione, he spoke again. "The one I fought beside. I hadn't known that he had died, though."

It was as if the incident had subtly re-set Lucius, and shaken the cruelty and cynicism out of him for a moment.

"The family was always _fucking_ un-hinged, though."

Ginny knew he was upset because of his profane language. She grimaced at Hermione, who took the hint.

"Well—it's been an eventful meal, but I should go—Ron's expecting me. I told him where I was going and he wasn't as ridiculous as I thought he would be. Mainly just irritated. Maybe he's coming around. Who knows?" Hermione grabbed at her purse but Lucius sighed and shook his head.

"No, let me."

"What?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I _said_, Miss Granger, that I would take care of the bill. Don't protest—it's rude to turn down someone's generosity."

Hermione was silent for a moment before speaking. "Well, thank you very much then. That's very—generous of you." She didn't say 'kind'.

"It's the least I could do, what with that maniac—" Lucius trailed off, his voice grumbling and low, and Hermione shrugged and looked at Ginny, smiling slightly.

"I'll see you later, Gin."

Ginny stood and hugged her hard. "Thank you." The words were whispered into Hermione's hair. "I'll owl you tonight." She watched as Hermione picked her way through the crowd, walking confidently out of the pub. "Do you think she's alright with that loon running amok in the streets?"

Lucius had his head down, sorting through his pockets. "She should be. Mss Granger is a big girl, after all."

"Don't act so nonchalant. You stood up for her today."

"I stood up for _you_. She just happened to be there."

"So you're saying that you would have sat back and let him attack her if I hadn't done anything?" Ginny looked at him wryly.

"Perhaps," he replied. "And why on earth has she married your brother? She's much smarter than him," Lucius grumbled.

Ginny grinned.

---

Back in the Manor, Lucius exhaled and collapsed onto his study's couch, sitting up right for a brief moment before sliding down, over to the side, to fall onto his stomach, his face buried in the material.

"What are you doing?"

"Resting," he replied, his mouth muffled.

"Was it Jugson?" Ginny was unbuckling her shoes.

"It was having to be civil to a Mudblood all lunch."

"_Lucius_." She threw her shoe at him, and it bounced harmlessly off of his bottom.

"It was Jugson, yes. It was a mixture of lunch and then Jugson."

"But you were civil to Hermione."

"Grudgingly. She is smart. You were right. I appreciate her intelligence. She needs to comb her bloody hair, though." His face was still in the couch.

"You're going to suffocate yourself."

"Or at least braid it." He turned his face to the side, looking at her. "I'm concerned about him, actually. I thought he had moved to Bulgaria. I suppose he's back. The Ministry will always keep tabs on him, but I think his main probation period is over, and it seems like he's still the vitriolic and sadistic man he always was."

Ginny felt a stab of worry. "Will Hermione be—safe?"

"I'm not sure. Probably. He seems angrier with me, which will translate into anger with you, too. It's you I'm more concerned about."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I've fought my fights." She came over to sit beside him, pulling his hair back over one shoulder. "I can handle myself. So can Hermione, actually."

"It's a different kind of magic. Dark magic."

"Well, I'll let you know if anything out of the ordinary happens."

He nodded.


	36. Chapter 35

She moved beneath him, dragging a rough, cat-like tongue across his chest, circling around his nipples—and when she bit down lightly, he murmured and closed his arms in closer to her head, framing her body with his own. His pace was steady and deep, and on every thrust, Ginny felt the almost-pain of him hitting against her cervix, his going as far as possible inside of her, his mouth hovering above hers, his breath across her face.

They were in the middle of their bed, Ginny's legs hooked over his shoulders, her hips opened wide to accommodate his thrusts. With every movement, the sheets rumpled more beneath her body, creating a sort of disheveled and yet beautiful white canvas that they lay on, colourful in the colourlessness of the linens—red and white and blond, red and white and blond and the colour of skin, miles of skin—

He was kissing her, deep and slow and honeyed, his tongue curling into her mouth, pressing her into the bed by his lips only. She slid a hand between their bodies, stroking her clitoris wetly.

"Oh, Lucius," she murmured against his lips, and that was enough to set him off. Without taking his mouth from hers she felt his movements become erratic and hard, and then he was coming inside of her. Her hand was pressed against her mons as his body flattened to hers, and the increased pressure triggered her own orgasm. Her legs slipped from their position on his shoulders and fell to his waist, locking around him as her hips bucked against his.

Lucius sighed contentedly and brushed a kiss against her forehead, pulling out of her and slipping beside her body.

She grabbed the pillow from under his head and put it under her hips, still lying on her back.

---

"Ginny?"

Ginny looked up from her desk. She had been pleased when Lucius had suggested that she have her own study, and so she had claimed the room adjacent to the second library, far enough away from his own office so that they could both work without distracting or bothering each other. She decorated it in a spartan and burnished manner—the deep cherry desk, the red and burgundy leathers, gold inkwell, the deep gold curtains.

"It looks too Gryffindor," Lucius had grumbled, and Ginny had laughed and patted his bottom gently and then ignored him completely.

She loved her space, and it meant that she was able to work from home more often.

"Ginny?" The Floo was officially activated.

"Sorry—Hermione? One moment. I just need to finish this thought." Ginny scribbled something down on the paper in front of her, and then set her quill down. When she pushed herself up out of her chair, she winced slightly.

Lucius had truly been trying his hardest over the past few weeks to get her pregnant. They had been having sex up to three times a day, even though she had tried to tell him that perhaps it was best to conserve his sperm for her more fertile times. He had replied that he didn't much believe in Muggle superstitions and that he only really knew of one way to get pregnant.

Ginny always felt full—full of his seed, the warmth and wetness of it seemingly always on her thighs. In retaliation for this, she had given him a few bites on his neck that he wasn't allowed to cover for the entire time that they were visible and healing. If he would mark her, she would mark him, too.

Nobody knew that she was trying to get pregnant except for her and Lucius.

Even as she moved now, toward the fireplace, she could feel his come thick inside of her, dripping out of her, as only thirty minutes prior she had accosted him in his study before he left for a business trip and had made him lie on his desk while she rode him.

"Hello, Hermione," she said, bending forward into the fire.

"I like the look of your new study," Hermione replied. "The house elves directed me up here. I was disappointed not to be able to talk to Lucius again."

"Rude," Ginny laughed. "No, he's away for a few days. And he hates when you call him Lucius."

"That's why I do it."

"I know. You truly know how to rub him the wrong way. It's fantastic to watch." She sat down on the hearth. "What can I do for you, Hermione?"

Hermione's face turned more solemn. "This is going to sound odd, but can I—can I come spend the night?"

"Of course, if you feel comfortable enough in the Manor." Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

"Well, I wasn't even going to ask until I heard that Lucius was gone—er—well, Ron is away for more training, and I just don't much like spending time alone."

Ginny frowned slightly. It was unlike Hermione to feel that way—as far as Ginny knew, she was a fairly self-sufficient and gutsy woman. Ginny decided to get her to the Manor first and then ask the questions after, so she nodded. "You can come through the Floo, if you like. Now, even."

When Hermione emerged a few minutes later, she dusted off her trousers with quick, efficient motions. Ginny was sitting on her desk, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"Explain," she said, and Hermione sighed, setting her bag down.

"I suppose it's that episode with Jugson. I've never been that expert of a dueller. Not like you—I can't hex like you. And Ron's away for the next few days, and I just wanted, for some reason, to be with someone tonight. I didn't really want to be alone in the flat."

"That's fine," Ginny said, smiling understandingly. "I could set you up in a guest room."

Hermione nearly smirked. "Look at you, playing lady of the manor."

"Oh god," Ginny grimaced, "You're right. I promised myself I'd never do that. That I'd never be some poncy Lady Malfoy."

"Are you planning to be?"

Ginny had picked up Hermione's bag and started walking out the study, attempting to get her settled in a room. She turned.

"Planning to be what?"

Hermione took the bag from Ginny's hand. "To be Lady Malfoy?"

"Er—no. Follow me, this way." Ginny guided Hermione up the stairs. "We're—no. I don't really want that. To be like mum. You know? Here, it's this door." Ginny nudged open the door to the guest room, revealing a deep green bed and lush mahogany furniture. "Our—my room is just two doors down."

Hermione set her bag down and turned to Ginny. "No marriage?"

"No, Hermione. I don't think so. I guess, in a way, I want to be free, and the moment we get married I feel like I could never—well, leave—if I ever had to. You understand? I don't want to leave, ever, but being married would almost mean that I could never. And—well, no, that's it."

Hermione looked at her for a vast moment, and then nodded. "That makes sense."

"I'm still going to keep my damned head about me, even in the midst of all of this—" Ginny waved her hand at the room around her.

"It's impressive," Hermione said, looking about. "I haven't been here since—since—you know. But I don't remember the—the décor. I don't remember anything about the Manor at all, really."

"We'll steer clear of the drawing room. I rarely go in there, myself." Ginny smiled awkwardly. Hermione nodded brusquely. Ginny realised, then, that Hermione's reticence to be in her own home, by herself, had to been high if she was agreeing to stay the night in the Malfoy Manor.

Hermione dropped her suitcase. "Can we eat?"

---

Ginny was sitting on the library couch, her feet up on the arm. Hermione was lying on her stomach on the rug in front of the fire, an empty plate in front of her. She watched the flames jump.

"Doesn't it get lonely in here when Lucius is gone?"

Ginny shrugged. "He's not gone so often. And I've been working a ridiculous amount lately. The paper seems to want me to write more now that I have some sort of notoriety from being with Lucius."

"You never say that you're 'dating' him. Or 'seeing' him. Did you know that?"

Ginny cocked her head to one side. "No, but I guess it's because I don't think of it that way."

Hermione propped herself up onto her elbows. "This is for life, isn't it?"

"You make it sound like a prison sentence."

"You know what I mean."

Ginny inclined her head. "Yes."

Hermione exhaled, thinking. "You could do worse."

"Charming."

"You know what I mean—you know what I mean! It's a troubled past you are facing—his past—your pasts—but he's smart enough. And he's _trying_ to be civil to me, which must be killing him."

Ginny chuckled. "I think it is. He hates it. But he's grudgingly impressed with some of the things you say. He reads as much as you do. I wasn't lying when I said that you two would make a good couple."

Hermione grimaced.

"I'm serious," Ginny continued. "And you wouldn't—" and here she threw a throw pillow at Hermione's head, "—be making that face if you had ever fucked him."

"Tell me," Hermione, sitting up suddenly, resting her forearms along the couch cushions. "Just this once. Tell me."

"Nosy."

"Yes," Hermione said, laughing as Ginny swatted at her.

---

They slept in the same bed that night, a thing that they had not done since their dormitory days.

Hermione had knocked on Ginny's door just as Ginny had been getting under the covers. When the door opened and she saw Hermione there, framed by the doorway, Ginny knew that a night alone in the Manor might prove to be too much for Hermione.

So she had pulled back the bed covers and settled Hermione on Lucius' side, relishing the feel of another body in the broad and empty bed. Hermione had said nothing, but had exhaled softly and happily, and they had not touched each other but had been lulled off to sleep slowly.

---

"What—"

As Ginny woke up, slowly, she noticed the figure above the bed. Before she had time to panic, she noted the light hair spilling over the shoulders, the long fingers, the fluid wrist, and she relaxed. Lucius had his wand out, steadily, pointing at Hermione's supine figure.

He had come home early from his trip. He had come home because the Ukrainian wizards were brusque and brutal and because he had been sick for home and for the woman that he knew was sleeping in his bed. He was exhausted and his translation spells were faltering. He was mixing up words. After the third coal mine had been purchased, he had left his legal representative in Slobozhanshchyna and had found the first Floo to take him home.

He had not been expecting a body in the bed beside Ginny. His wand had been out immediately, and the anger had thickened his blood, waking him up.

"Lucius," Ginny murmured sleepily. He started at the sound of his name. "Lucius. It's just Hermione—in bed beside me. Don't curse her."

"_What_?" He shifted slightly and she could see his face come into broader focus—his drawn mouth, his tired eyes. He looked exhausted and miserable. Ginny also noted that his wand hand was still out, the wand pointed calmly at Hermione. She was certain that he was itching to hex her into oblivion.

"Lucius." She used her voice to calm him. "I thought you weren't coming back for a few days." Ginny's tone was tired and rusty but soft, and Hermione didn't even stir as she spoke. "She wanted to come and—wait, why are you back? You told me that you weren't going to come back until everything had been resolved."

He moved suddenly, his form crumpling somewhat in tiredness, and the poker-faced warrior she had just witnessed was gone. In his place was an exhausted man. Lucius exhaled and put the light out, sliding his wand back into his robe. "I wasn't going to, but I—is she asleep?" He peered at Hermione's form with a great suspicion and a sort of anger. Ginny nodded, and he walked around to the side of the bed she was on. "Well, I—I missed you," he said, almost sheepishly, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her, "And I didn't like the idea of you being alone here, especially after that incident at the pub."

"Lucius," she murmured. "This place is the safest home I've ever lived in." Her hand drifted up to his head, and she deftly undid the stern ribbon that was holding his hair back, placing it on the bedside table. Her fingers found their way to his scalp, and she massaged it firmly, combing her fingernails along his hair. He sighed.

"Is that why Miss Granger is here?" He jerked his head over to where Hermione was sleeping.

"Yes, actually."

"I'm going to have to burn those sheets after she's left," he muttered.

"Oh, Lucius." Ginny pinched his ear and he jerked.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"Just slide in beside me. I don't want to wake her. I don't think she can handle a night alone in the Manor. It intimidates her."

"As it should," he said. "The inherent magic in the house is probably raving angry over her appearance in here."

"I did have to mute a few portraits," Ginny mumbled. "Just take off your robe and come in," she said, sidling over closer to Hermione, and pulling back the covers.

Lucius sighed again, dropping his head slightly. Ginny knew that he was fighting an internal battle—he seemed so exhausted, but he was angry at being made to share a bed with Hermione—the mudblood—the woman that he was trying to be so civil to.

She knew that he had made his decision when he slipped off his robe, leaving it haphazardly on the ground, unbuttoned his shirt, high-stepped out of his trousers, moving in efficient motions. In the muddied light of the night and the moon, Ginny was rendered speechless at his indifferent beauty—the white, murky glow reflecting off of the acreage of his skin, catching on specific silvered scars, luminescent across the bowls of his shoulders, the curves of his biceps, the length of his fingers, the soft length of his penis, the hair on his thighs.

"Move," he said lowly, and Ginny shook herself from her quiet state, sliding even farther over toward Hermione, and Lucius knifed in between the sheets, exhaling heavily as he settled in, turned her to face their bed guest and pulling her body back into him. The softness of her buttocks settled into his hips.

His lips were light on her neck, and she could feel his heartbeat slow as they lay there, his body losing it tenseness.

Ginny sensed the change in his aim almost immediately.

Lucius' hands were strong and hot across her waist, his fingers spanning out across her stomach. Ginny pressed her head back into his chest as his fingers found their way under the hem of her nightdress, sliding up between her legs.

"Lucius—Hermione's—right there." Her speech was staccato as he slipped two fingers inside of her. He sighed happily behind her, as though he had missed the feel, the heat of her. "Oh," she murmured softly as he curled them gently.

"I don't care," he said softly, and she felt him reach down between their bodies. "I won't last long, anyway." She could nearly feel the heat from the flush that had to have been in his cheeks at that statement. It was rare that he would admit his sexual shortcomings. "I'm tired, and it's been a long day—"

"Sh," she said, reaching behind her, pressing her fingers to his mouth. "Sometimes, you just being inside me is enough—more than enough."

He guided himself inside of her, and the two of them hissed softly and lowly, in unison. The pace established was rocking and sublime, slow because Lucius could not find a solid purchase on the linens and because Ginny was so careful not to wake Hermione. His hands were pressed across her breasts, along her neck, and his mouth was at her ear.

Lucius stilled, then, as Hermione shifted, as she turned to face them in her sleep as though sensing the activity even in her dreams, her eyes still closed and her breathing still even. Ginny could feel him harden even more inside of her.

"You're so wet," he laughed gently in her ear. "You like this, my little exhibitionist."

Ginny said nothing, but took his right hand and guided it down the front of her body until it was between her legs, his fingers hot and strong over her clitoris. She let her head loll back as he rubbed mercilessly, his fingertips making up for what his hips could not do without waking their guest.

"This is so perverse," she whispered. "She's facing us."

"She's asleep," he said, rocking in and out of her slowly, and the room was so quiet that Ginny could hear her slickness as he moved. She was so turned on, so hot—her body was burning up, keeping him deep inside. "But I'd continue with you if she awoke, anyway," he said, and Ginny reacted immediately, picturing the scenario, her body clenching immeasurably, and she came silently, pulsing hard and wet around him. He laughed into her ear again and she could feel him, pushing forward, forward, harder, as much as his soft purchase on the linens could allow him without waking their guest, and then he came deep inside of her, sucking on her neck as he did, soothing with his tongue, his fingers still strong across her clitoris, wringing the last wracks of pleasure from her as he softened.

Lucius fell asleep softly and thickly, not even withdrawing from her, curling his body around her own, a hand on her stomach as if in prayer.

---

Hermione woke up before either of them, her position in the bed meaning that she faced the eastern sun. The light was lemony and bright, and it tickled Hermione across the eyes, the chin, the bridge of her nose, rousing her gently and sweetly. She stretched slowly, relishing the deep cracks of her elbows and neck.

When she turned and sat up, she jumped.

Lucius was on the other side of Ginny, and from what she could see he was quite obviously naked. Any self-righteous reaction that Hermione would have had to finding herself suddenly in the same bed as a former Death Eater was quickly quashed when she narrowed her eyes and took a strong look at the pair.

The two of them were in a sort of gorgeous disarray. Ginny's nightgown was pushed down her shoulders, one nipple exposed, the white curves of her breasts evident and softly pressed up from her sideways position. Her red hair was thrown out around her in snarls and swells, stark against the sheets. Hermione rarely saw Ginny in such a vulnerable state. Usually she was riposting, on the offensive, witty, sharp. Growing up with so many brothers did that to a girl, Hermione supposed. Ginny could have been a different kind of girl—Hermione's eyes were drawn to the sheer and quiet happiness of Ginny's face. Even in sleep, she was feeding off of Lucius' heat, deeply ensconced in him, blanketed.

Lucius was behind her, barely covered by the sheet. One of his legs was thrown out from under the bedclothes, the long and naked line of it against Ginny's own legs, under the covers. His foot was long, his calf taut and lean, the thigh lightly furred with pale hair. His shoulders and chest were bare, one of his arms looped around Ginny's breasts, and the other underneath Ginny's neck and extending toward Hermione, the back against the pillow, the fingers facing upwards and lightly curling. In sleep he was not at all vitriolic. He was almost beckoning. Lucius' own hair was wild and spread out across the pillow, a pale and satiny mass, lightly tangled, mixing with the blood of Ginny's curls.

They were absolutely striking. Hermione brought her knees up to her chest, ignoring her own lightly clad state. Instead, she leaned back against the headboard, looking at them. Lucius would twitch lightly in sleep, and Ginny would move back into his body, subconsciously soothing him, sometimes murmuring softly.

It was then that she realised how the two of them worked—the mutual protection and security, the quieting and the comfort, the assuaging, the power that vibrated between the two of their bodies, a power so sweet she could almost taste them.

She didn't know how long she watched them. The liquid quiet—the exquisite lull that had been created by seeing the two of them in their most natural and unguarded states—was broken when Lucius spoke without even opening his eyes.

"Granger."

Hermione started.

"Staring is rude."

"Sorry," she said, smiling slightly, shifting.

"Is your arse on my pillow?

Ginny was awake now, her eyes open and hazy, blinking as she adjusted to the morning sun. Lucius' eyes were still closed.

Hermione looked down. "Yes, it is," she said, wiggling a little to emphasise.

"Good god," he rumbled. Ginny pulled at the light hairs along his forearm, smiling at Hermione as Lucius groused at the slight pain. "I'm going to burn everything. That's _my_ side of the bed you're on."

Hermione shrugged at Ginny, nearly laughing. Never before would she had thought that she would have been waking up in the same bed as a naked Lucius Malfoy—never would have thought that she would have been sitting on his pillow, legs languid and body relaxed, not scared of him but rather attempting to aggravate him.

"Lucius, go back to sleep. Hermione and I are going to—" Ginny looked down and noted that her nightgown was down, her breast exposed. "Oh. Sorry, Hermione." She hitched the straps back up completely nonchalantly, grinning brilliantly. "Hermione and I will go have some breakfast."

Lucius skimmed his hands over her nipples, her ribcage, then up to her eyebrows and the bride of her nose. It was a quick and efficient gesture, but Hermione caught it, sharply, and stored its intrinsic tenderness away for later.

"If you get an eyeful after she moves, Miss Granger, it's naught but your own fault." Lucius turned his face slightly into the pillow, his eyes still closed. "I'm keeping my eyes closed because if I don't open them, I can pretend that you aren't sitting on my pillow—in my damned bed." Ginny shook her head, adjusting the sheet so that that scenario Lucius mentioned decidedly did not happen, and Hermione stepped out of bed, taking Ginny with her.

"You two are beautiful."

Hermione murmured the phrase as they left the room, but Lucius still heard it, caught in the unmoving and warm air of the bedroom, hovering above the canopy, across his ears, and even half-turned into the pillow as he was, he actually smiled.

---

"They're in love."

Hermione said it, firmly, and watched as his face turned a blotchy red.

"They're in love," she repeated, and Ron's mouth crumpled, his eyes a stinging, bright blue. He folded into Hermione's arms, and she pulled him into her body, pillowing him across her breasts, and she held him firmly as he exhaled—one huge, long, pained breath, a breath of anger and disappointment, releasing it all.


	37. Chapter 36

Lucius shuffled through his closet, picking through the layers of velvet and satin and tweed.

---

Ginny sat on the toilet, thinking.

---

He pulled on a pair of trousers, the well-cut material sliding lusciously over his naked calves and thighs and tight buttocks. As he fastened the buttons, he sorted, one-fingered, through his selection of cuff links, frowning slightly.

---

She stood and walked over the medicine cabinet, sorting through the vials and bottles carefully, eyes peering over the caps.

---

Lucius brushed his hair steadily, his eyes closing at the pleasant sensation of the bristles running along his scalp. He tied it back evenly, knotting the ribbon into a bow.

---

Ginny sat on the bathroom counter, holding a piece of toilet paper in her hand and a small vial in the other.

Lucius ambled in nonchalantly, still shirtless, looking for his straight razor and shaving cream, stopping briefly when he noticed her perched on the counter beside the sink.

"Hello." He bent forward and kissed her. "What are you doing up there?"

Ginny was silent, holding her palms out, and Lucius looked quizzically at her for a moment before tilting his head to look down. He noticed her hands and the contents of them. "What are you—what—is that—" He stopped speaking, and looked at her quietly, a sort of apprehension and excitement painted across his face.

"Er—yes." Ginny looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Green means—means yes. Red means no—negative."

"It's green."

"Yes—er—yes, it is. So—yes. It means yes. Positive."

"Positive," he repeated slowly, his eyes on the potion in her hand. "Which means—"

"Means—that—baby," she murmured, a slow smile starting. How womanly she looked in that moment, that quirking and almost sly smile curling up around her mouth, her lips pink and full, her hair loose and morning-snarled down around her shoulders, her eyes still hazy with the remnants of sleep. Lucius was struck—thought that maybe, for a fleeting moment, that he was in too deep, too far over his head, that she was the seducer, the goddess, something far too smart for his own self.

"Baby," he repeated, saying the word out towards her.

They were a still tableau for a moment, Lucius staring at her in surprise and yet also calmness, Ginny sitting on the counter, her legs dangling, the pregnancy test held out in her hand, the green contents of the vial still and even.

"Oh," he said. "_Oh_."

And then his face broke into a brilliant, jubilant smile, and he slid between her legs, pulling her into him, holding her so tightly that she laughed, breathlessly, and he was rubbing his cheek against her neck, and her face, and her shoulders, his arms feeling as though they were wrapped around her more than eighty four times.

He picked her up from underneath, his hands under her buttocks, they moved down to the bathroom floor, she astride him, his arms strong and thick.

For a moment he looked at her, up and down, smiling slightly. Ginny grinned back, her teeth bright and prominent, her happiness genuine as she saw his face brighten.

His hand was reverent across her abdomen. "How long has it been?"

"I'm guessing I'm at about three weeks. Maybe a month. Which means that the heartbeat will be audible, soon. And the little legs, and arms—they'll be developing."

Lucius had her on his lap, the fingers of one of his hands playing loosely with hers, the other hand across her skin, their faces close to each other.

"Will you show?"

"You just want the world to see that you've got me sprogged up."

"Well," he smiled. "Maybe."

"I'll show a little. People might be able to tell that I'm pregnant. Or they might not." She shrugged.

He slid his hand across her stomach, and looked down at it. "I can't imagine you getting so large."

She laughed. "I know. Me neither. I'm nervous, actually."

"Don't be. I've been through this, remember? Well, somewhat. I wasn't incredibly hands-on with Narcissa's pregnancy. I was better with Draco's infanthood. Mainly because he screamed so much that Narcissa needed all the help she could get."

"How comforting," Ginny said.

"Well, Draco was a finicky baby." His palm pulsed over her stomach. "Not this one. This one is going to be stoic. And smart."

"Oh, really," she said, smiling.

"I just know. I know it." He paused. "What about sex?"

"Well, I'll double check with the doctor, but if it's a normal pregnancy, without complications, it should be fine. We'll have to get—er—creative—with some of the positions once I grow larger." She nuzzled at his neck, tugging at his hair. "But I think that the hormones will make up for it. In a few months there will be so many of them in my system that I think I'll want you all the time. Well, more than all the time, because I always want you all the time." She licked at his neck.

"I'm very happy." His voice was even but she could sense a tremulousness behind it.

"Are you?"

"Yes," he said. His palm was hot and weighty on her stomach, and she looked up into his face, her mouth full and lush and wondering. His eyes were brilliant and moist, and she scanned his lower lashes, nothing the drops nearly caught in them—not quite, but close. She felt as though she could reach out with a fingertip and catch them, taste them, slide them inside of her mouth. He moved forward, kissing her smacking and hard. "My baby," and his voice did not crack but then—then, almost did, almost snapped hot and brittle in the middle

"Baby," she murmured, her mouth moving closer to his. "Your baby," she smiled.

"My child," he murmured back at her, his mouth breaking into a brilliant smile, his breath suddenly galloping into an uneven, wet gasp of an inhale, as though he were trying as hard as he could not to cry. Ginny nodded furiously, her eyes tight and wet, too, her hair flying in red tendrils, her gaze fixed on his.

Lucius Malfoy sobbed.

Ginny watched in amazement as his face split, his mouth rumpling into sections, his eyelashes growing so wet they looked webbed and dewy. He wound his arms around her, crushing her into his chest, burrowing his face into her white neck, and she could feel his frantic, hot breath on her skin, his unseen tears streaking down her collarbones, and he wracked, sobbed, held her.

Ginny slowly brought her hands up to the back of his head, clasping desperately onto his hair, pressing her fingers into his scalp, rocking with him. She looked up to the ceiling, trying to stop her own tears from falling, but failing—the hot liquid traced slowly from her eyes, treacly and languid, and her own tears fell onto his light hair. Her groin was fitted against his, the heat burning them together. Ginny breathed heavily, smelling the lemon and verbena scent of his hair, the deep musk of his skin, the salt of his sweat and tears. His arms were thick and solid around her, and she felt small and fragile.

They sat still for some time, until Ginny pulled back slightly, meeting his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue slickly between his lips, tracing over his teeth, his cheeks, and he mumbled into her mouth, bringing a hand up to the back of her head, clasping onto her frantically.

When they pulled back from each other, they gasped stickily, and Ginny pressed her forehead into his, her smaller hands on either side of his face.

"I'm scared, you know," she said softly. "I'm scared."

His hands alternated from her buttocks to her stomach to her waist, his touch everywhere and possessive and tender.

"I'm here," he said, low and harsh.

She breathed.

"I didn't know that you wanted more children—so much."

"I do. I do. I always did. I was a terrible father to Draco at times."

"But you loved him. He knew that. He must have known that." Their faces were still centimetres apart, so close to each other.

"I hope so," he breathed. "I hope so. But I always wanted to prove myself again—to not _fuck_ it up. Because I _fucked_ him up."

"No," she said, blinking and seeing her tears fall. "No—he's not as bad as you think. Draco's smart and confident and he loves you very much. Very much. You're not going to fuck anything up."

His mouth was everywhere, trailing down her neck, licking hard and fast across her collarbone, his fingers pressing into her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

"Do you know what it will be like? To see you large with my child?" His hands were back at her stomach now, and Ginny shook her head slightly. "It will be magnificent. It will be the greatest thing—the greatest gift—that I've ever received—childbirth—like Draco was such a gift, and now another—I don't even—" He breathed in. "I will take you out everywhere so people can see us. I won't be uncomfortable in public. I want to be right. To be proper. I want people to see you, blooming in pregnancy, heavy and soft." He kissed her, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. "I won't be able to keep my hands off of you. Every night. Every day. I will want to touch you, to feel the weight of your breasts in my hands, the softness of your hips against mine."

Ginny smiled. "You're very poetic." He flushed slightly and she realised that she had embarrassed him. "No, no, I wasn't being snide." She pressed her palms into his face, meeting his eyes. "That all sounds wonderful. It sounds _wonderful_. This is going to be hard work. This means—this means forever," she said, her eyes widening. The gravity of the situation sunk in.

"I know," he said, his arms still around her. "I know. But I always thought it was forever. A baby doesn't change that." She still had the wide-eyed look on her face. "Well, we're not married so if you do want to ever leave me, you're free to."

Ginny laughed, then. "Oh, good." She nuzzled at his neck, opening her mouth and kissing hotly at his skin. "I don't want to leave you."

"Don't," he said, almost painfully. "_Don't_."

---

"I hate you. I _hate_ you. Freud was right. I'm loathing you right now. I'm trying to vomit up your baby." Ginny had her head on the toilet seat, and Lucius was sitting on a chair beside her, torn between grinning and looking sympathetic. There was a book spine-up on his knee. "Stop smiling." She turned her head and clutched at the porcelain, emptying another volley of bile into the bowl.

His fingers were cool across her forehead, pulling the hair off of her skin, holding the rest of her hair back. One hand was rubbing up and down her back.

"Did Narcissa have this?" Ginny's head was turned to the side, her cheek pillowed on the back of her hand.

"Yes, actually. She had awful morning sickness. Worse than yours, you sissy." Ginny scowled. "The vomiting starting as soon as she got pregnant and continued on into the second trimester, which was unusual. We had to have a specialist come in to make sure she didn't get too dehydrated."

"Don't tell me that," she groaned, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Lucius smiled. "I already told you that Draco was an extremely finicky baby."

"Probably because of Pureblooded inbreeding," she muttered.

He tugged on her hair in retaliation. "Don't be cruel. Although you have a point. The Black family line is particularly inbred. Actually, aren't you and Draco kissing cousins?"

Ginny stared at him for a minute before vomiting again—violently.

Lucius laughed, rubbing her back still. "I think you're something like third cousins, once removed. Or maybe just third cousins. It's fine."

"Am I related to you?"

"I don't think so," he murmured, stroking at her hair. "The Malfoy line is separate from the Black line—dates back to France, and is therefore a different gene pool altogether. Besides, all of the older Pureblooded families are related anyway. As long as it isn't first cousins—I think it's fine."

"Lovely," she grumbled, pushing herself up from the toilet, walking to the sink, rinsing her mouth out over and over again with water.

He came up to stand behind her.

"You're almost at the end of the third month, now, aren't you?"

"That's what the doctor said, yes," she murmured, splashing the water on her face. He was directly behind her, his arms on either side of her arms, his body around hers. She looked up in the mirror and met his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I think we should tell people. Everyone."

Ginny thought for a moment. "I guess getting past the first trimester is the riskiest part."

Lucius was lipping at her hair, mouthing against her skin. She shook slightly, and he stopped, looking at her curiously in the mirror.

"I need to tell my family."

---

He stood behind her. She looked at him in the mirror—the blond hair pulled back tightly and bound into a braid, the severe black robes buttoned up to his neck, the cane that she had convinced him to leave at home lying on the floor of the closet. Instead, Lucius carried his wand in an inner pocket of his over-robe.

He looked almost nervous.

Ginny had waited as long as she had to tell her family because she had wanted to get past the first trimester—past the trickiest part, the red zone. It would be a stressful conversation, she knew, and she didn't want anything to endanger the life of her child.

Lucius helped her into the long set of blue robes, lacing up the back with a deftness that surprised her. He was silent, and she thought.

She had heard neither hide nor hair of her family—not since the blowout at The Burrow and then that conversation with Ron. She had been hoping that Ron would have come to his senses and perhaps tried to contact her—the last meeting hadn't ended so awfully—but there had been nothing.

Ginny wasn't sure if she felt bereft. Having Hermione back in her life was helping her immensely and there was almost a sense of—of relief—of something lighter, now that she was cut-off of the family. It was an odd mix—she missed them terribly. She missed her eldest brothers the worst, lean Bill and roughened Charlie. But at the same time, she felt the lightest she had ever felt.

"How are you feeling?" Lucius' voice was stark and deep.

It was as if he was reading her mind, at times. Ginny smiled and shrugged, though she was sure that her smile was watery and patchy and not at all reassuring.

His hands were warm on her shoulders as she combed out her hair and plaited it quickly—he was so close to her that his chin was nearly on top of her head.

"I never really noticed how small you are," Lucius murmured, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her arms, warming her.

Ginny smiled again, her hands shaking slightly as she bound the end of her braid over her shoulder. "I'm scared," she said, softly, and his hands stopped their motion. "And I'm scared for you, too, because they will want to kill you. They will want to kill you, Lucius. Just—keep a hand on your wand."

He brushed a palm over her forehead, pulling her back gently into his body, and folding his arms over her.

"They can do _nothing_ to me. _Nothing_. Do you understand?" His voice was harsh against her ear. Ginny felt an odd weight inside of her—an odd feeling—that came from the need to be loyal to her family and yet the also greater need—the heavier need and heavier _want_—to be loyal to Lucius. She had a secret thrill that ran through her at his words, even though they were words against her family, her brood. She knew that if it came down to it, Lucius would battle for her. She wondered if that was why he tied his hair back—to prepare for war. "They can nothing to me because I am the most powerful and the happiest that I have ever been at the moment. Because," he said, a hand cupping her stomach lightly through the robe, "because there is new life. And because I have you."

His eyes were flint and smoke. He was dead serious and yet also so earnest in the same moment.

Ginny nodded. "Don't do anything unless I say to—please."

Lucius nodded in turn. "I will follow your lead."

"I'm surprised you're coming." She turned around to face him and smooth one of his lapels.

"I'm not sending you into that fire-ant hill without protection." He was sneering.

"_Lucius_—they're my family."

"And they've treated you like a fucking dog, Ginevra. None of them—_none_ of them—could look beyond my sins from the past—" his face flinched slightly "—and congratulate you. The Mudblood was the only one to do that. How ridiculous is that? How _ridiculous_ is that?"

Ginny sighed and tilted her head.

"These are sins that I have atoned for, you know. And—well, never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be upsetting you right before we leave," he said, wrinkling his brow slightly.

"You're right, you know. But blood is supposed to be thicker than water—to be thicker than semen, maybe." Ginny laughed roughly. "So I should be defending them against you, I suppose."

He looked at her for a long moment, almost impassively, and then inclined his head towards her. "You do _whatever_ you need to do," he said, and it wasn't vitriolic or caustic or cynical—it was serious and supportive and weighty.

"We're surprising them—I don't know who will be at home right now."

---

It had been Ron, and Molly, and George who had been at The Burrow when Lucius and Ginny had Apparated into the front yard and then knocked on the door.

That was the part that had confused Ginny—she was unsure of whether to knock on the door or not. In the past she had always just barged in, shouldering her way through the crowd of raucous relatives and brothers and blood, making her way to the kitchen in order to help her mum start serving the food.

But that was before Lucius. And now she was almost laughably unsure. So she knocked, and when her mother answered the door and all of the colour drained from Molly's face, Ginny swayed on her feet for a moment.

Lucius' hands were at the small of her back, and she could feel his heartbeat in his thumbs—a fast pace, a nervous pace.

"Can I—can we—come in, mum?" Ginny hated that her voice was more maudlin than she had wanted it to be—not at all confident.

Molly was silent.

From behind the figure of her mother, Ginny could see the figures of Ron and George, looking out curiously and angrily and amazedly at the scene on the doorstep.

"Mum," Ginny said again, and Molly shook her head abruptly.

"No."

Even Lucius winced at this.

"No?" Ginny's voice was pale and small in comparison to the chopped tones of her mother. "Not even to introduce you to the newest member of the Weasley family?"

It took a few seconds for the statement to properly hit home, but when it did, Molly dropped the spoon she had been holding—coated with gravy—on the concrete of the doorstep. Sauce flew upwards, spattering the hem of Ginny's robes and then Molly's skirt-shown legs with brown dots.

Ginny didn't even blink. Lucius was silent behind her, his hands reassuring and strong.

Ron and George's eyes were so large that Ginny could nearly see her reflection in them.

"What?" Molly's voice was a sort of deadly calm—but there was a strain of incredulity in there, something that could, in time, be identified as pleased or happy. It was the tiniest iota, but it was not lost on Ginny.

"I'm pregnant."

Molly turned to meet eyes with Lucius. "I bet you're proud of yourself." Lucius was still and silent, assessing the situation. Ginny could feel his muscles tense, and she knew that he was preparing for a fight. She willed him not to strike her mother.

The sun was starting to set, and the orange was hitting the house, illuminating their argument.

"I bet you're proud of yourself for getting my daughter pregnant. Someone twenty-five years your junior. For shame, Lucius Malfoy."

"She did have a say in the matter, too," he said shortly.

"She's my only _daughter_." Molly's voice had reached the same level of harshness and volume that she had spoken in when she had battled Bellatrix. Ginny winced and stepped forward as if to mollify, but Lucius moved first.

He stepped in close to Molly, his face lining up with hers, and the rest of the Weasley family that was present watched in a type of shock.

No one had stood up to Molly like that before—no one had taken up her physical space. Even Molly moved as if in surprise, her face tilted back slightly, her chin tucked, her eyes somewhat widened.

"And look how damned _shoddily_ you are treating her!" His words were a veritable snarl, and they rendered everyone speechless for a moment. "Look at this. Look at what you did—after she told you, _you_ struck her. _You_ did—her mother. And then none of you—_none_ of you—" and here he swept a disdainful look through the doorway, at Ginny's two brothers "—made any effort to contact her. Oh, except for the brother who was closest to her in age—her former good friend and ally—a former hero to her—setting the Aurors constantly on our house. That was a charming addition to the humiliation, Ronald—when I had to go pick your little sister up from the Ministry's holding cells at three in the morning." Lucius stared at said brother, and then turned his gaze back to Molly. "And _you_. You should be ashamed. I had many faults as a father—god knows I've made the worst decisions for my child—but I've never iced my own child out of the equation. I love my son with all of my heart, and in the end that was what drove me during the—during—it all. And know this—that being compared to Lucius Malfoy—as a parent, as a caregiver—and being found wanting—that is truly, truly abominable."

Lucius stopped, taking a deep breath for a moment. His features solidified once again, and he looked less berserk and more stoic. Molly was silent and still, watching him, part owlish, as if evaluating what he was to do next, and part shell-shocked, her eyes widened. Lucius then simply glanced at Ginny, and then inclined his head and walked away, to the edge of the property, gathering his thoughts, calming himself.

Ginny stepped forward to her silent mother.

"Mum."

Molly seemed to move as though being pulled from a haze of sleep. The wideness and softness of her facial features moved, the soft jelly of her cheeks shaking slightly as she turned to her daughter.

"Mum—he's right, you know. I know that you hate—that you all hate," she said, looking back at Ron and George. "But stop it. Stop hating. It's unhealthy for you and it's hurting me so much. So _much_," she repeated, her voice snapping in the middle of the word. "I miss my mum. I miss my family. I'm making my own family now, and it's for good. And I want you—I want all of you—to come back to me. And to be a part of my life. Please. _Please_." Ginny straightened up, brushing a few stray hairs back from her eyes, and just like that, her eyes went from liquid and pleading to determined. "But I won't ask anymore. I won't beg. This is my last visit. It has to be. I cannot keep on putting stress on myself and on Lucius." At Lucius' name, there was an inhalation from within the ranks of her brothers present. "Yes, Lucius," she said. "That's who I'm with now, after all—he is half of the life that's inside of me. Remember that and repeat that. It's not a lie. It's not pretend. And so I will say goodbye. You know where to owl me, and you know where to contact me. Please—please do." Ginny held her hands out for a moment, as though she were reaching for her mother, and then dropped them after a split-second. She turned on her heel and walked purposefully away from the house.

Lucius was leaning against one of the trees in her front yard, his back to her. She could tell that his arms were crossed. He appeared to be watching the sun as it descended to the horizon.

Ginny walked up behind him, resting her forehead in the centre of his back. She was sure that perhaps some of her siblings were watching them from the living room window of the family house, from the open door, but she didn't care. Lucius exhaled at her touch, but didn't turn. Ginny wound her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek against his robe, against the tip of his braid.

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, a small smile across his mouth.

Ginny looked up at him, illuminated in the glorious orange of the impending sunset, his hair brilliant, his teeth flashing, and she smiled back at him, sliding around to his side. He slung an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in tightly to him.

"Let's go home."

After she spoke the words, the two of them disappeared from the front yard, leaving behind only indents, the remnants of orange shadows, an unsettled feeling still in The Burrow, a shocked family, an outstretched palm.

Neither of them knew that there was still more family business that would be rearing its head in the next few days.

---

Later that week, Ginny went shopping at Diagon Alley. Lucius had a meeting at the Manor, and she had shooed him off after asking him what books he had wanted her to pick up.

Browsing Flourish and Blotts had always been soothing for Ginny. The manufactured smell of the pages—the high gloss, the dancing words across pages—it all calmed her, helped to tame her roiling heart, her waving insides, no matter what the situation.

The store was too crowded for her liking today, and a particularly fat witch kept jostling into her, throwing her forward against the book shelves. Ginny scowled, her eyes forward, and picked through the crowd, heading to the Dark Arts section. Of course Lucius had asked her pick up a book on Medieval curses—she shook her head as she thumbed through the titles.

"Of course you'd be here."

The voice was familiar that Ginny couldn't help but smile in reaction.

Draco was beside her, a few books bundled under his arm, his hair falling into his face, the sharp slope of his nose illuminated by the wall sconces. She tilted her head and looked at his parcels.

"Yet I find it surprising that you're here."

It was a direct jab to his reticence to read—Draco disliked books, always had. Lucius had alluded to it on more than one occasion. Ginny squared her head off and stared him straight in the eyes.

Draco flinched for a moment. "Good shot," he murmured, hefting the books under his arm to re-settle them on his hips. "It's research for a guest article I'm writing for—your paper, actually." He looked at the titles that Ginny's hand was hovering over. "Medieval torture spells and curses. Father's taste is as innocuous as ever, I see." He looked back at Ginny, daring her to speak in a way.

Ginny looked at him for a moment, and then reached her hand out impulsively, brushing her thumb pad over his cheekbone. Draco didn't fight her off but instead closed his eyes, as a cat might, not quite leaning into her touch but savouring it, almost as though he were rolling it off of his tongue, sticking it to the roof of his mouth.

When she dropped her hand, there was a moment of thick silence.

"It's too crowded in here." He broke the quiet first, turning his head awkwardly to eye the pudgy witch that had been bumping into Ginny earlier—who had made her way over to their section, eyeing them hungrily. "Are you eavesdropping? Go away."

"Draco," Ginny laughed.

In the middle of her laugh, her voice warbled, and she set the book she was holding back down onto the shelf.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

Ginny placed a hand on her chest, feeling an immense and greying wave of nausea wash through her. The vision at the corner of her eyes blurred slightly. She bent over.

"Are you—are you alright?" His voice was perplexed.

"No," she heaved. "I'm going to throw up."

"What?" He gaped at her for a moment.

"I'm going to—" Ginny heaved again, her face draining paler. "I'm going to throw up. Here. Now. Please help me," she said, her hand shaking slightly as she ran it through her hair."

"Oh, god," Draco muttered, wrapping one arm around her smaller frame and holding the other up in front of him, elbow out. He began pushing through the crowd, elbowing irate people out of the way. "Move, please. _Move_." Most people shifted out of his way, moving to avoid the constant pressure of his arm against them.

Ginny was dragged along by him, one hand over her mouth. She was being shot curious looks, some glares, some narrowed eyes. People had, by now, definitely identified her as the lover of Lucius Malfoy, and the reactions to her differed. To be seen, dragged behind Draco Malfoy, was raising some suspicions.

He elbowed his way through the crowd, and Ginny could feel the strength of his arm around her, the way his muscles held her in place, and she remembered the feeling of him inside of her, and the world spun briefly.

Draco burst outside, and Ginny skittered around him, unsteady, into the alleyway beside the store, half bent over, a hand at her mouth.

"Gin," he started, his eyes scrutinising but wide. "Gin, what on earth—"

"Take me somewhere other than here," she breathed. "Now. _Now_!""

Draco didn't think, merely acted, and grabbed his wand and Apparated them to the first spot he thought of.

---

When Lucius looked out his study window and saw Ginny vomiting into his lillies, he wasn't particularly surprised. It took a lot to surprise him, after all of his past. He raised his eyebrows as he watched her heave. What surprised him more, however, was that his son was beside her, awkwardly looking on, his hand hovering over her back as though he were deciding whether to pat her comfortingly or not.

Lucius put his hands in his pockets and stood, watching.

---

"Are you—are you feeling—are you fine now?"

Ginny was bent over, her hands on her knees, as she spat out the taste of bile from her mouth. She nodded. "Thank you for removing me from that situation. I didn't want to vomit in Diagon Alley—not in front of everyone."

"You're welcome, I suppo—" He broke off, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked at her.

Ginny looked up at him warily, wide-eyed. Draco was a fury, but Draco was not stupid.

"Are you—are you _pregnant_?"

Ginny stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

His eyes widened.

He let out a strangled, choked sound—almost a shriek, almost preternatural, and Ginny blinked as the noise of it hit her. Draco whirled away from her, throwing his arms up over his head, holding onto his opposite elbows, running fingers through his hair, making it stick up on end.

---

Lucius watched as his son physically reacted to what he could only assume was Ginevra telling him about the baby.

He was kicking at the ground, his hands gnarled above his head, and Lucius realised how young he looked—how almost vulnerable in his twisted, distressed state. A part of him truly wanted to rush out to the garden and pull his son into his arms, but the other part knew that she had to work this out with him by herself.

Draco reached out with a hand and swiped at the lillies, the heads fluttering.

---

He eventually calmed, his shoulders heaving. He was still facing away from her, but she could see the slowing of his breath.

"Draco," she said mellifluously.

He made a sighing sound, and when he turned around, Ginny was relieved to see that he was not crying, but simply looked tired. She took a step closer to him.

"Thank you for what you did for me today."

"Don't worry about it," he murmured, looking briefly up at the large study window that he was sure his father was at, looking at the two of them.

"You're still the sole beneficiary and inheritor, Draco."

"You think _that's_ why I'm perturbed?" His face was incredulous. "I could give a shit about that. I'm just—it's—" He floundered, scrubbing at his face with the palms of his hands. "It's a change, Ginny."

It was not the time for her to remind him that he had been the one to leave her. Instead, she watched him closely, her hands clasped behind her back.

"I know," she said softly.

"I—it's his, right?" He looked alarmed suddenly, and she realised that he was thinking back to the night where they had shared her.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, it is," and then she laughed at the absolute inappropriateness of the situation.

"I hadn't realised that it was so—so serious. With you two." His cheeks were pink. "I didn't think my father would—after my mother—again. But with you. With _you_." He looked at her thoughtfully, then looked away. "This is so fucking unreal."

"You're going to be an older sibling."

"Yes, to a child whose mother is _younger_ than me."

"This isn't where I saw myself either, Draco. I thought, for a while that—"

He looked at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, and then winced.

"_What_?" His word was harsh and she was reminded of his father—how Lucius spoke when he was perturbed and impatient.

"That maybe it would be you. I don't know." She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, the world dizzy and blurred again, and when she brought her hands down he was closer to her.

He exhaled slowly.

She stared at him.

Finally, he spoke. "No. We wouldn't have lasted that long."

She was relieved to hear him admit it, finally, out loud. It made her feel like less of villain.

"I know."

Draco moved before she noticed properly, his rapid approach so like his father's, and then he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Ginny wound her arms around his waist, her hands clawing up his back as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, rocking her slightly. They drew deep breaths together.

"I need a friend, Draco." Her voice was cracked.

"I can't promise that I'll be so good," he said. "But I won't be absent from your life. Your—your lives, I suppose. You and my father." His words were muffled against the top of her head. "And I won't promise any bollocks friendship with fucking _Potter_ or his cronies because of this. You realise that?"

She nodded into his chest, half-laughing, half-crying.

"Well—good, then."

And then she tilted her head up and Draco leaned down, and their mouths met softly, briefly, for a light kiss, and when she tilted her head back down and away from him, he rested his chin on her head and thought.

---

Lucius turned away from the embracing figures, cracking his neck and back. He would ask the elves to set a third place at the dinner table, maybe.


	38. Chapter 37

Ginny slid out of bed as quietly as she could. Lucius was a notoriously light sleeper, and he woke up at the slightest sound or slightest depression of their mattress. She figured that it was a dreg left over from his more troubled past. It was nearly preternatural, the way his eyes would snap open if she even shifted in her sleep. That—combined with the tightness of his arms wound around her waist—made it difficult for her to ever slip out of the bed without his noticing.

This time, she made it out of the linens without the click of his eyelids coming open. He looked peaceful, lying there. She stopped to look at him for a moment. It had been a happy week for him after the initial distress of the visit to her family. It had been a happy week for the both of them. Especially in sleep, the lines that were always so evident, bracketed around the corners of his mouth—they were lessened, lightened. Ginny thought it was because he had been smiling so much lately, he standing behind her absent-mindedly as she shuffled through books on the library shelves, wrote standing up, picked out her trousers, stirred a bowl of batter. He would keep a hand loosely and warmly on her stomach, quietly watching what she was doing. She wouldn't try to engage him in conversation, because she knew that his mind was in another place, anyway.

He was more careful in fucking her, and that was different and sometimes odd. It wasn't even fucking anymore—it was more making love, and that was a bit startling. Ginny didn't mind the gentler way he was handling her, but she missed the way he would wind a hand into her hair and ride her hard from behind, slathering filthy words across her ear-whorls, biting at her neck.

She padded out of the room, grabbing one of his dressing gowns as a shield for the midnight chill throughout the sleeping Manor. The gown pooled around her feet, the sleeves hanging like a kimono, and when she walked, the fabric slithered across the carpet behind her like a train. She forgot, sometimes, how much bigger he was than her in terms of broadness, in terms of musculature and build.

She was hungry. She had always though that cravings were a sort of urban legend, but the other week she had begged Lucius so grievously for pickle-flavoured crisps—a commodity the Manor had none of—that he had first grimaced and then snapped at her, and then eventually gone out, dressed less flamboyantly than usual, sans robes, and with his brilliant and unusual hair tucked up under a hat, finding a grocery store in the _Muggle community_ that sold them.

She would have gone herself but she wanted to see if he would do it.

He did. When he came back into the Manor, he had thrown the chips on the floor by her feet, but she knew that he hadn't been really that angry because he had sat beside her on the couch, keeping her head on his thigh as she curled up beside him, and had let her feed him the crisps one by one, not even looking down at her as she slotted them into his mouth.

She pulled his robe tighter around her body as she walked, breathing in the verbena and clove scent. She liked to smell like him. She liked to smell him around her.

Ginny wondered, sometimes, if she had lost any of herself in him—in the relationship, in the crannies of the Manor, in the opulence that surrounded her as opposed to the stacked and cramped Burrow where she used to live, the little flat she had rented, her smaller previous life, a life that had been less glittering, quieter, homier.

She thought that she had—lost a part of herself, that was. But maybe not lost. Ginny thought that perhaps it was not lost but was rather warmed and now fitted into her being a little differently, the shape of it a little warped but needing to be rotated within herself in order to click. Maybe a part of herself had joined with an erstwhile part of Lucius' self and that was—

Maybe her child.

Talking with her family always made her think. They wanted to believe in brainwashing, in black magic, in emotional and even physical abuse. When it came down to it, Ginny struck Lucius far more than he had ever done to her, even during sexual play. And there was no way anyone could emotionally abuse her, because after the ordeal with Tom, she had purposefully decided not to become ragged and porous, not to become accepting of further abuse from anyone else. There were two ways she could have swung—becoming the veritable sponge for a vicious cycle to begin, or to become hardened. She became hardened—hit harder on the Quidditch field, wrote clearer and sharper in her assignments, her articles, her columns, raged farther in the bedroom, becoming more voracious.

She rounded the corner to the kitchen, pleased to see that the elves were off-duty and that the glistening room was empty, that she could explore as she wished.

There was still left-over beef in the ice-box, plates still from their earlier dinner where Ginny had eschewed the meat and instead had cake for dinner while Lucius had watched with a wrinkled nose. Now, she wanted the beef. She yanked it out with happiness and set a plate for herself, standing at the counter, leaning half on her left elbow, spearing the food with gusto. It was cool in the kitchen, but she found that the pregnancy made her warmer on occasion and she ignored it, feeling the texture of the meat on her tongue, sated.

"Ginny?"

Her name startled her—it was Lucius, blearily rubbing at his eyes, his hair pulled back but falling out of the ribbon, creating a soft, bright halo around his head, his chest and feet bare and only a light pair of sleep pants on him—she was open-mouthed at his use of her informal name, something that she had never heard him say.

"What are you doing?" He was still dashing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, and Ginny looked down at the plate in front of her.

"I was hungry."

"It's three in the morning. I woke up and you were gone. I had to ask the elves where you were."

"I thought they were off-duty. Did you wake them? Shite." He was staring at her. "Oh. Right. I'm sorry," she said, offhandedly, not really sorry. "But I really needed something—salty."

"And something bleeding, it seems." Lucius looked around her and saw the slab of rare beef on her plate, alongside the mashed potatoes. "Stop that. Stop!" He tried to pry the saltshaker out of her hands as she liberally dosed her food. "That's not healthy for you or the baby."

"I don't care," she practically grunted back, wrenching the shaker out of his hands and giving her plate one last dash before setting it out of his reach. "I just want to eat." Ginny yanked open a kitchen drawer and pulled out some cutlery, switching the duller knife she had in her hands for a sharper one, savagely slicing into the thick slice of meat. Lucius watched, half in horror and half in appreciation, as clear red liquid oozed out. Ginny shoved a piece in her mouth, half-moaning as she chewed. "Good lord, yes."

When she had swallowed and looked over at Lucius, she burst out laughing.

"What?" He still sounded tired, his voice delicious and deep from sleep.

"The look on your face—you look _disgusted_." Ginny cut off another piece. "But also fascinated. And possibly turned on." She popped the food in her mouth, grinning as best she could at him.

"Come on. Bring your plate to the library. It's cold in here." He shifted on his feet.

---

Lucius settled her in his biggest wingback chair, and Ginny was so focused on her food that she let him sit her down, and didn't even protest as he slipped behind her, slinging a strong leg on either side of her, looking down over her shoulder as she ate determinedly.

"Hello," she eventually said, looking back over her shoulder, and when he kissed her he could taste the juice of the steak and the salt from the mashed potatoes, and it made him nearly smile.

"Hello," he hummed, and as she turned back to the plate on the ottoman in front of her, Lucius slid a big hand from around her body, moving it down her front and spanning it across her lower stomach, cupping the slight curve that had developed there. Ginny put down her knife and fork for a moment, savouring the light _clink_ they made as they rested on the plate.

She leaned back into him, sliding a smaller hand across his, and stroked her thumb along his skin. They didn't speak—she felt no need to and didn't want to make him engage in meaningless conversation in such a moment, anyway.

He made a soft sound over her shoulder, and Ginny smiled into the dark library, straight ahead, feeling his hand tighten on her skin. After a moment, she leaned forward slightly again, resuming eating, putting the plate on her knees instead of the ottoman. Lucius kept his hand cupped across her stomach, his fingers palpating softly every so often.

"Our child likes red meat. I'm oddly proud," he murmured, pushing her nightshirt up slightly and touching his hand to her bare skin.

"Probably a little barbarian already." Her words were mumbled around the food.

"You're going to make yourself sick from eating too fast."

"Hm." She continued, nearly done the plate. "I want an onion."

"What?" He craned his head to look at her. "Raw?"

"Yes," she breathed, finishing the meat, and Lucius winced, and then called the elves, asking for a whole onion to be brought to Ginny.

"And a knife, please. And some salt. And some mayonnaise."

Lucius flinched. "Good _god_, that sounds disgusting." His throat made a gagging sound next to her ear.

Balius appeared with the food and Ginny lunged forward, a grin on her face as she grabbed the items from him. Lucius found himself looking at her creamy white back, the lace of the nightgown revealing inches of silken skin.

"I remember mum telling us that when she was pregnant with Ron, all she wanted were sweets. She was big on treacle and cream and apparently licorice, too. She'd put licorice in everything. I think she asked dad to put licorice on her chicken, once." Ginny was speaking absentmindedly as she sliced the onion into petals. Lucius watched as she sprinkled salt on each piece and then dipped it in mayonnaise.

"Does that taste good?"

"I just wanted onions. And salt." She put more of said seasoning on her food on until Lucius snatched it away from her.

"I told you that was _bad_ for you." He tossed the shaker across the room, uncaring of where the granules landed. "You're going to pickle our child."

"Spoilsport," she muttered, eating the onions with such alacrity and speed that he was impressed. "Spilling the salt means that we are going to have a fight." She looked back over a shoulder at him and grinned. "Our child likes strong-tasting things, it seems." She licked her fingers, sucking the tips into her mouth, tracing around her skin with her tongue. He watched as she caught a drip of mayonnaise with her mouth, closing her eyes as she savoured it.

His hand was still on her stomach, warming her skin, and she sighed happily as she shifted forward in the chair, lining up his front with her back, pressing against her. As he lazily kissed her shoulders, she murmured unintelligibly, settling her bottom more snugly between his open thighs.

After she finished her food, she pushed the ottoman away from them with her feet, and placed her hands on his knees, squeezing him as he slid his hands up her torso to span just under her breasts.

"Did seeing me eat that turn you on?" She sounded breathless and he remembered Narcissa's pregnancy—how easy she had been to arouse, how much sex they had had, how hot she had always been, on fire practically—and Lucius nodded.

"The combination, I think, of seeing your mouth at work—and the fact that you are feeding our child." He moved his hands upwards and tugged the nightgown off of her, pulling it down to her waist, baring her breasts. When he brushed his fingers across her chest, he realised that her nipples were already hard and straining. "You're turned on, too."

"Always. So touch me. Touch me," she nearly panted, moving her hips rhythmically against him, the flesh of her bottom pressing into his groin, her hands clenching and releasing on his legs.

Lucius brought his right hand up to his lips and sucked the first two fingers into his mouth. When he withdrew them, he brought that hand down the front of her body, pulling her nightgown up around her hips, and Ginny widened her legs immediately.

Lucius slipped two long fingers between her thighs and pushed them into her as slowly as he could manage, pressing as deep inside of her—the warmth so hot he nearly exclaimed—as he could, slightly scissoring as he began to move in and out.

Ginny pitched forward somewhat, and he had to clamp his other arm down around her waist to keep her upright and sitting against him. She moaned out and lifted her legs, draping them over his own legs. When he spread his thighs, hers spread even wider.

"Yes," she breathed. "God—yes. Your hands—your hands—" She tilted her head back and bit at his neck, licking at him with her pointed tongue.

Lucius could hear how wet she was just by the slick movements his fingers were making, and when he curled them inwards and upwards, Ginny nearly jerked off of his lap. He tightened his grip around her middle and kept her held back tightly into him. As she mewled and gasped, he shifted his fingers around, trying to find the specific spot to palpate with his long fingertips—

When she yelled out loud, he knew that he had found it, and he pressed into her, hard, his fingers making furious, quick motions. Ginny had been rendered wordless by that time, her head flung back onto his shoulder, her mouth open and panting, her eyes wide as the muscles in her coltish legs tensed and relaxed haphazardly.

Lucius kept the pace, relishing the wet sounds his hand was making, the rhythm of his palm hitting against her skin as he plied her with his fingers. Ginny was pleading with him, slurring incoherent words as she kept spreading her thighs wider and wider.

When he moved his thumb at an awkward angle, rubbing briefly against her clitoris, Ginny's body jack-knifed, her legs pressing against his as they tried to close instinctively. As she came, she cried out his name, amongst other unintelligible things, and he was amazed, once again, at the sheer power of her inner muscles as she convulsed around his fingers.

He expected her to go completely limp, but Ginny quickly reached back between her legs and brusquely pulled his sleep pants down just far enough to release his cock. Lucius watched her, slightly open mouthed, as she slid off his lap, from under his loose arm, and yanked the pants off his legs completely. As he watched her, she turned back around to the position she was in before, sliding back onto his lap so that his length rested between her thighs. She placed a foot flat on each of his spread thighs, and braced her hands on the arms of the chair, arching her body back.

"Come on," she whispered. "Guide yourself into me."

Lucius snapped out of his reverie and grasped himself in one hand, lining himself up with her entrance, and she slid down onto him. He could feel her inner thighs shaking, and when he ran his hands up her body—above him—she was damp with sweat.

"Fuck me," she hissed, and Lucius stiffened for a moment. Ginny hissed again. "I won't break. I won't break. The doctor said it was fine. I'm going mad, you bastard."

Lucius moved into action, then. He braced her with his hands, alternating from her hips to her lower back to her upper back, holding her in place above him as he thrust up into her, using his feet, planted on the ground, for leverage. They didn't speak, not during this coupling, and the dark library rang only with the clapping of soft flesh meeting hard flesh, and the soft, animalistic sounds that Ginny was making.

He wondered what they might look like to someone who would come in the door—his lover, on top of him, her legs splayed and everything in full view, him below her, pistoning in and out of the soft, wet place between her legs, his testicles bouncing off of her body, his thighs smacking against her. He kept up a hard, hard pace—a steady pace, deep, unrelenting thrusts, and she wallowed in it, her low, fraught sounds becoming raspier as he fucked her thoroughly.

Lucius reached a hand around, using only one palm to steady her body, and used the same two fingers that had been inside of her to relentlessly stroke her clitoris again, and Ginny's sounds became harsh cries as she came once more, her vaginal walls contracting around him so tightly that he came immediately, releasing deep and hot inside of her.

She relaxed onto him with a slick smack, and he remained inside of her as she rocked her hips slightly, riding out her climax, still moaning softly.

"Love you," she murmured, reaching an unseeing hand up behind her to stroke along his strong jaw.

"I know," he hummed, lifting her off of him and slipping out from inside of her, standing her in front of him, watching as his come dripped slowly out of her too. "Beautiful," he said appreciatively, fixing her nightgown—pulling it down around her thighs and slipping the straps back up her shoulders. "You should sleep now."

Ginny smiled down at him and extended both hands, and when he took them she pulled him up. They stood, almost face-to-face, for a moment, and Lucius clasped his hands around her, his fingertips just at the top of her buttocks.

"Do you want it to be a boy or a girl?" Ginny's voice was soft, and she was looking up at him.

"Both. All. Any." Lucius kissed the top of her head. "I don't say it enough, but I'm so thrilled that you are pregnant. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like when you start to really show. I rarely saw Narcissa toward the end of her pregnancy—she was confined to bed-rest."

Ginny kissed his chest, rubbing her cheek over the skin there, back and forth, trying to keep him in the present, trying to wordlessly let him know that _she _was here, that _she_ would let him see everything, see all.

And when his hands tightened on her buttocks, she knew that he realised.

---

Lucius watched as Ginny slept next to him. She had torn off her nightgown, then grumped at him for being "too warm", and had then kicked the blankets down, falling asleep quickly, and her naked body was stretched out, one arm flung above her head. He recognised that pose—he often woke up as she was now positioned, one arm across his forehead or above his head, one arm out across the bed. Lucius smirked to think that even his sleeping patterns were rubbing off on her. Try as he might to _reform_ himself, a barbaric part of him still loved to see her taking on some of his traits, as though those subtle changes marked Ginny as _his_, irrevocably.

The pregnancy was going to do that as well, and it thrilled that ancient and masculine part of him.

Lucius wondered, for a moment, if Ginny had rubbed off on him in any way.

It all came down to tolerance, he supposed. Before her—he never would have spoken to the Mudblood.

He grimaced, even in the dark, as he thought of the Granger girl—woman—female. She was annoying as all hell, and poorly put together, and came from dirty and swirled blood, but she was smart, and she was eloquent, and he admired—_admired!_—her bluntness. She was, horrifically, starting to grow on him.

Lucius decided, right there, that Hermione would be the only one of Ginny's compatriots to ever be tolerated by him. He drew the line right after entertaining a dirty-blooded know-it-all in the Manor—there would be _no_ other Weasleys in his house, no other friends of Ginny's that irked him so.

Even as he made the silent vow to himself he knew that he would change it as soon as she asked. He stifled a groan and rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking back down at the lithe young woman who had changed his life so.

It was three in the morning. He always seemed to find himself awake at this time. Usually it was because one of them had turned to the other in the night, layering kisses across skin. A few times he had been woken up in the middle of the night by Ginny lowering herself down onto him. He always seemed to be hard around her, and she was always so _wet_ and so hot. Sometimes he was awake because of his nightmares, which were so common that he had never even told Ginny about them because there was just no cause for worry. Every night he dreamed of lurid, twisted things, but the dreams were so prevalent and he had been dealing with them for so many years that he didn't even jerk awake on screams anymore—he had stopped having the sweats and shakes that went along with them many, many years ago.

If those were the only major dregs from his past, he could handle the dreams.

He didn't want his child to have nightmares like that.

He knew that Draco had had nightmares like that. Lucius had heard him, all throughout Draco's teenaged years—in his sleep, Draco would cry out, making piteous and hoarse sobbing sounds. And he had known—Lucius had _known_—that it had been his actions that had caused those night terrors for Draco. Father and son would probably never talk about it now, in the present, but the nights that Lucius was actually home, and heard, he would slip into Draco's room and sleep beside him for the night, one arm thrown around his son's shoulders.

In the morning, Lucius would leave before Draco would wake up, so his fifteen-year-old son would always be completely unsure as to if his father had actually come in and comforted him.

Lucius wished, now, that he had stayed the whole night, waiting until Draco woke up.

Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything. He didn't even know if his grown son still had the nightmares to this day.

Lucius sighed, and then watched as his sigh caused Ginny to stir in her sleep. Her body was faced towards him, her breasts pillowed on her outstretched arm. She had kicked the sheets off in her sleep, exposing the long, white lines of her body, and the very slight roundedness of her stomach.

Lucius blinked, and was surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks. Before her, he couldn't truly remember the last time he had cried. And now—now he was sobbing like a woman at every chance he got.

She didn't seem to mind, though. She licked his tears off of his skin, would wipe at his face with the sides of her hands, smiling at him, her lips curved.

He didn't truly understand her. She was an enigma, like he had been called an enigma—and maybe it was this that made her so attractive to him. She couldn't be really figured out—there were layers like onionskins, some soft and translucent and easy to peel, some thickened and tough and stalwart. He wasn't quite sure what was at the core.

Ginny had started reading to him, which he had at first found odd but now loved. She told him that it was practice for the baby—that maybe the baby could hear already—and she would sling a long leg around him and rest her chin on his shoulder, reading books by Muggles—Robert Louis Stevenson, Johann David Wyss, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Laura Ingalls Wilder—books about prairies and wildlife and pirates and children, books written before his time, before her time. She said that she had found them when she was younger, at a used bookstore in a corner of Diagon Alley.

They smelled proper. They smelled like old books should. He liked them, but he never said so.

And so Ginny would read to him, absentmindedly trailing fingertips in his hair as she held the book with one hand, or as he held the book with both hands, and Lucius would lean against her, mindful of her slight bump, settling his weight to the side of her.

And she would break between words sometimes, and just inhale, and he knew that she was smelling him, because then she would tighten her arms and legs around him, pressing her breasts into his back, kissing his pulse.

Lucius lay back down in the bed, facing his sleeping partner. Her breasts moved softly with every inhale and exhale, her nipples soft, her throat stretched. He brushed a red snarl out of her face, and she made a soft sound at his touch, moving instinctively closer to him even in sleep. He folded his arms around her and decided that everything about this new family was going to be right—he was going to do it right—it was going to be right, done right, said right, made right.


	39. Chapter 38

Ginny was careful, when she went out, to wear looser robes. At five months pregnant it was getting harder and harder to disguise her growing belly. While she and Lucius had told their respective families—Narcissa was notified by post and replied by sending dried roses, to which Lucius had shrugged blankly—the public was not yet made aware.

Ginny had hung the roses from the rafters in the kitchen, and smiled up at them whenever she made chicken stock.

Hermione had been told in person, and had responded to the news by bursting into tears and yet also simultaneously laughing. She had then grabbed Lucius into a fierce and crushing embrace, surprising him so greatly that he had waited a few extra seconds before pushing her swiftly off of him, scowling at her and ostentatiously picking hairs off of his robe after she separated from him.

Hermione had sent them tiny sleepers, downy blankets, and washcloths. Lucius had unpacked those, and had stared blankly at them for a moment. Ginny was momentarily concerned, but watched him quietly, and smiled secretly to herself as he, in turn, smiled secretly to himself, folding the clothes up, laying them aside gently.

Most interestingly of all, a package of tiny hand-knit baby booties had come in the post. Since the package was unmarked, Lucius had been extremely concerned, and had only declared the contents safe after performing many, many charms on it. When the two of them had opened it, and pulled out the booties, Ginny's mouth had unstuck, dropped slightly. The knitting looked startlingly similar to her mother's handiwork. Lucius had looked at her, knowingly, and then the box had been placed on his desk.

Every day, Ginny expected the news of her child to be splashed across the headlines—_Illegitimate Malfoy Heir! Bastard Baby! Born Out Of Wedlock!_—but they never came. She had let Cuffe know, discreetly, that she was going to be working at home for the next few months, and he had acquiesced after upping her word limit for her upcoming article. He was a bastard to her sometimes, but he was close-mouthed and trustworthy, and she knew that even if he suspected her state of pregnancy, he wouldn't blather about it to anyone. Her coworkers—they were too absorbed in their own lives to truly notice any differences in her work rhythms.

It was fair. They worked a stressful job most of the time.

She hummed a little as she shopped Diagon Alley, spooling out lengths of ribbons in Madame Malkin's, looking for a new piece of grosgrain or velvet for Lucius to tie his hair with. When Ginny went out shopping, now, she went out first thing in the morning, avoiding the crowds, avoiding being jostled around. Lucius had offered to go with her—quite earnestly, actually—but she had refused him, assuring him that she was fine, that she could still protect herself despite being pregnant.

She felt amazing.

The morning sickness had passed quickly enough, which meant that Lucius was also released from hair-holding duty—a duty that he had performed with a smile on his face most of the time, which had been a surprise to her.

The morning sickness had passed, and now she felt better than she had expected to feel. She felt remarkably full. Her breasts weighed soft and heavy, now, in her hands—and in Lucius'. He would never admit it, but he had been struck like a fifteen-year-old boy by the increase in her bust size. His hands had migrated from always clasping across her stomach to now always cupping her breasts, thumbs toying softly with the nipples, a chin tucked over her shoulder so that he could look down at the softness of her cleavage. Sometimes he became so overcome that he would tug down the neckline of her dress, unbutton her shirt, and layer his mouth across the skin of her chest, sucking at her nipples.

"I never knew you were such a breast man," she had gasped down at him one night after he had pulled her from her chair at the dinner table and had wrestled her out of her shirt.

He had responded by pushing her breasts together and biting both nipples into his mouth at the same time, and Ginny had cried out, digging her fingernails into his hair.

Ginny blushed as she recalled his hands all over her.

Pregnancy was upping their sex lives. She had gone through a few dire phases where she had been all over Lucius, day and night. At one point, he had actually begged her to give him a rest because he had been so exhausted from lack of sleep and the physical activity.

"Do you want your child to only be able to recognise our voices because of how much moaning we've been doing?" He had asked her that snappishly, and she had laughed and kissed him, her hair hanging down around their faces.

She had kept growing her hair out, wanting it to hang down her back.

Every night before bed, she took off all her clothes, and Lucius took off his, and they sat on the bed, Lucius up against the headboard, she leaning back against him between his outstretched legs, and he touched her—not necessarily sexually, but rather with an exploring aim—touched the creases of her knees, the sides of her body, the lines of her arms, the globe of her stomach. She would sit and trace the palms of her hands up and down his lightly haired thighs, sighing softly if he feathered across a particularly sensitive place.

They were always touching, touching, feeling along with fingers and palms.

Singing lightly to herself, Ginny paid for her goods.

She felt radiant, truly. She wasn't sure that she would take to pregnancy. She had heard enough details and too many horror stories from friends and acquaintances, and she had been expecting—what? Constant nausea, swollen feet, gas, discomfort, a grumpy partner, a grumpy demeanour.

But she felt full, like a gift basket, like a beautifully wrapped present. She felt as though she was brimming.

She held the bag to herself, peeking inside to see the deep blue velvet ribbon she had chosen for Lucius. It would look nice in his hair, would bring out the colour of his eyes.

She wanted to go home to tie it into his braid.

---

The Manor was silent.

Ginny had lived there long enough to be able to gauge the inherent magic of the house. It had taken a while for the house to accept her, and Lucius had laughed when she had complained of it, explaining that it was lucky that she was Pureblood, because the Manor was irked enough as it was that there was a new woman in the house.

It had been little things at first—finding that the doors of the libraries didn't stick so hard when she tried to open them, or that she didn't anymore get those nasty static shocks when she touched doorknobs. Those had been the first signs that the Manor had been accepting her—it had progressed from there to the portraits actually being kinder to her, talking with her when she was alone in the house, to the cutlery being in their proper places when she went looking for a particular knife, to the tea pouring correctly, the rugs never bunching up against the doors when she was trying to get into a specific room, to the drapes always remaining closed in the mornings when she was trying to sleep in. Eventually, the house had started to have a warmer, rosier feel when she was in it. She wasn't sure if Lucius could feel it, too, but the whole place seemed to her pinker and more welcoming when she was inside. Perhaps the Malfoy magic as a whole had started to realise that she was probably there for good, and that she was not out to harm the master of the Manor in any way.

Now, however, she stood silently in the front hall. Something was off. Something was prickling at her, raising the fine hairs along the back of her neck, making the skin on the back of her hands tighten, her fingers stiff.

There was a mounting feeling within her—not quite panic, but a sort of bloodthirsty excitement, something older and more wicked than any of the recent magic that she had been feeling within the Manor lately. Something had happened.

"Balius?"

Her voice rang out clear and bell-like in the front foyer, clattering off of the floors, the high ceilings.

When Balius Apparated in front of her, Ginny jumped slightly at his silent appearance.

There was only one question she could ask.

"Balius, where is Lucius?"

The elf looked at her quietly, and Ginny was struck at his furtive eyes. Balius was not really a servant—she did not consider him so. She thought of him more as the caretaker and secret-keeper of the Manor and of the Malfoy family. Even Lucius didn't dare mistreat him in any way—Ginny had a feeling that Balius was older than Lucius, that he had been around far longer than any tow-headed Malfoy whelp had been, and that this was why Lucius was cordial to him.

Balius was a dedicated elf—dedicated to the family, to the secrets of the house.

"What's happened?" Her voice had taken on a steely glint, sounded terrifying, didn't sound like her own self. Balius recognised this and nearly flinched at the sound of it. When Ginny stood and stared him down, Balius looked at her for a moment as though he were evaluating whether or not to tell her.

Ginny had flint in her eyes.

Balius tilted his head to the side, and she knew that she had won.

"He is in the dungeons."

Ginny felt the blood move from her face, but she didn't gasp, didn't exclaim, didn't flinch. She felt herself go pale but she still stood and stared at Balius, and he back at her, and then she spoke again, saying aloud the one question that was even more important than asking where the father of her child was.

"And is he alone?"

She knew the answer before Balius even had to say it.

"No."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm going down there."

Balius made as if to step in front of her, and Ginny made a snarling sound as she walked, so animalistic that he moved backwards, away from her.

"I don't know if Mistress Ginevra is in the best physical condition to go down there."

"I don't _care, Balius_." Her voice had reached a new powerful height, and she felt the inherent magic around her, that same prickling up and down her neck, the skin on her hands tightening, and maybe Balius saw it too, because at the moment that the Manor seemed to sigh in agreement, agreeing with _her_, and Balius nodded once, brusquely, extended his head to beckon to her, and Ginny followed.

---

She had never before been in the dungeons. Lucius had shown her where they were, but she been ambivalent and also quietly frightened. He had kept the doors locked. She hadn't asked, had just sorted those rooms into the mental category of Lucius' darkened and dusty past, and he hadn't asked her to see them. Lucius had just mentioned them in passing, as an afterthought, as they were walking past the doorway, as they were on their way to another room to explore. Ginny had shuddered a little as she had thought of the blood-stained stones, the shackles that she knew had to be down there, and he had looped his arms around her, inhaled the smell of her hair, had promised her that she would never have to go down there.

The promise was being broken now, and Lucius didn't even know it.

Balius left her at the doorway, the door now unlocked, but not ajar, solidly closed. Ginny breathed for a moment and then grabbed the handle, determinedly.

She was not scared, not really—she was dangerously curious to see, wildly interested, part horrified, part intrigued to know why Lucius had unlocked the door, had dragged someone down there.

But there was a part of her that wasn't sure if she was ready to see the way he was, the reversion, the regression to his warrior-state, his possibly evil state.

She placed a hand over her belly, feeling the child within her, the contentedness of it, and she went off of that feeling, her child and also the urging of the Manor and its magic, and the fact that Balius had not turned her away from the doorway, had not stopped her from discovering yet one more secret—

She opened the door and slipped inside, silently, padding down the stone staircase.

---

All she could see at first was the pale hair, tied back into a tight braid, bound with a tie. As her eyes adjusted to the dark murk, she could see that Lucius wasn't in robes, but rather was in leather, long leather gloves that reached up to his elbows, high leather boots that were bound with laces and that came up to his knees, that leather armour across his chest that she knew too well. He was partially turned to the side, enough so that she could see his profile, the line of his body, the coiled bullwhip held casually, comfortably in his hands.

He was adjusting his gloves. He looked at ease.

Beyond him she could see a figure—_what?_—manacled to the wall, with a head of dark hair, said hair hanging down over the face—the figure was definitely male, as he had been stripped down to just his bare skin, his naked body pale against the cool dark of the dungeon walls.

For a terrifying moment, Ginny had thought that it had been Hermione—that somehow Lucius had gone mad and had taken her—but no, no, no, it was definitely a man, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the whip-strokes across his torso and thighs, the blood that was running down his legs, and she felt briefly sick but instead steeled herself, watching stubbornly, refusing to look away from the smeared red, set on finding out why he was down here—why they were both down here.

Ginny realised, suddenly, that she was seeing a window into Lucius' past—that this was what he was like in the height of his Death Eater days, in the height of his warrior cruelty.

She pressed herself into the doorway, watched as Lucius walked evenly over to the man, and used one gloved hand to grab a hank of the dark hair, pulling the face up.

Ginny stifled a gasp. Beneath the pulpy mass of bruises, the split lip, the lacerated eyebrow, she saw that it was Jugson, the same man who has terrorised them in the pub, had slandered them so, had been so cruel, so full of vitriol and anger, had made Hermione feel so frightened—_so_ frightened that she had come to stay at the Manor—Ginny breathed in.

Everything was topsy turvy. She was unsure of what to feel about the scene in front of her. Seeing the vitriolic face of Jugson so battered, almost beyond recognition—it confused her. She knew, deep down, that she should feel something like pity for the man who was manacled to her partner's wall—who had been, in all likelihood, tortured by Lucius for the past few hours or god knew how long. Ginny also knew that Lucius was in a frightening state of mind at the current moment, but she felt oddly protective of him—wondered what Jugson had done to drive to Lucius to this disturbing regression. She knew that something had to have happened to seriously threaten Lucius' family, her, his son, something—in order for this happen. This was Lucius—a man who didn't even want to talk about prison, who believed he had gotten what he had deserved, and here he was—

It was then that Lucius spoke.

"If you even leave here alive, Jugson, I know that you will keep a promise for me. Won't you?" Lucius had pressed the handle of the bullwhip up under Jugson's throat, and was obviously pressing hard enough for severe discomfort. Jugson made a choking sound. "Remember that promise I asked of you? To _never_, _never_ threaten Ginevra or her acquaintances ever again." He pressed down one more time, hard, and then eased off of Jugson's throat.

There was silence for a beat.

"Fuck you, you goddamned faggot. And fuck your slag of a _girlfriend_."

Ginny's eyes widened at the rancour that the man still had, even after what was clearly hours of duress. She felt a burn of rage at the words. She felt a burn of fear for Jugson. She felt a burn of pity for Lucius.

Lucius had turned slightly away from Jugson in that moment of previous silence, but stiffened with those words. He was still for a moment, and then turned in a graceful, fluid circle, wielding the bullwhip up and over in a languid arc, and Ginny watched in awe and horror as the wicked leather tip flicked out and snapped Jugson across the belly.

She shut her eyes and brought her hands up to her ears at the sound that Jugson made after.

Lucius was staring at Jugson, who was staring back just as solidly.

"Leave me alone." Lucius' words were strong. "Leave _us_ alone, and I will never find you again. Threaten us still, and I will hunt you down, you bigoted piece of filth. I will hunt you down for as long as I live, and I will teach Ginevra how to hunt you, and we will haunt you until the day you die." He dropped the whip. "Leave her alone. And leave her Muggleborn friends alone."

Ginny's mouth dropped slightly. This was different than she had first thought. True, Lucius was physically reverting to his Death Eater days, but the cause was all different—all wrong, all skewed, but all _right_ for her. He was not protecting some stupid Pureblooded stronghold of nonsense, but was protecting his blood-traitor of a lover and her Mudblood friends. She inhaled strongly, interested, shocked.

Jugson was silent for a minute, and Ginny wondered if it was all over.

Until he spoke again.

"What's her cunt like, Malfoy?"

She didn't even register Lucius' movement, but she realised that he had moved forward rapidly, had eschewed the whip and was using his fists on Jugson now, broad and pale fists that were slamming up into the man's ribcage, into his stomach, across his jaw, and Jugson wasn't laughing now, he was making a sound like a sob, or maybe that was Lucius, and she could see the blood exploding out of the two of them like viscous firework flowers—

"Lucius!"

Her voice rang out.

Lucius turned so quickly that his hair whipped out behind him in a pale circle. Ginny was still pressed up against the stone of the doorway, her arms folded over her stomach, and she wondered what her eyes looked like in that moment—maybe as his were—wide and wild, completely unsure of what was to happen in the next second of interaction.

Jugson made a sound as though he were beginning to speak, but Ginny was faster than both of the men, and her wand was out, the silencing spell thrown onto Jugson's throat before he could force the next few words out.

Lucius was staring at her the entire time.

She dropped her wand onto the ground, her chest rising and falling as she stared back at him.

"Ginevra," he began, but before he could continue, she simply held out her hands to him, the palms up. His face crumpled and he stepped into her, grabbing at her hands. He was silent, but he slid down the front of her body, falling solidly to his knees, his forehead pressed into her rounded belly. She wasn't sure what he was doing—laughing or crying—but she realised that some last wall was being broken down, and that this whole situation was necessary—that Lucius had obviously been storing some last dregs of his Death Eater past somewhere deep down in his being, and this was the exorcism, the true exorcism, the taking of his past and turning it into something new and different.

She cupped her hands to the back of his head, both of them completely unaware of the third occupant of the room, both of them uncaring.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was whispered and low. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, god," he said, and then he leaned over and retched violently onto the stone floor, coming down to his hands and knees. Ginny fell to her knees beside him, her form more cumbersome because of her pregnant body, and she held the coil of his braided hair back, placed a hand on his forehead, along his spine.

"You don't have to protect us like this, Lucius."

Lucius was silent, wiping the back of a hand along his lips.

"We can figure out other ways. It's not always like this."

"He deserves it," he said, so softly that Ginny had to bend to hear it. "He would have killed, you know."

"We don't know that," Ginny said just as softly.

"I just wanted us to be safe."

"You were protecting Hermione, too." Her voice was soft and quavering, and Lucius tensed up but then nodded once.

Ginny exhaled and pressed her forehead to his, smelling the vomit, the blood all over his person, the saltiness of his sweat, the brine of the leather.

"We need to clean this up. We need to clean this all up," Ginny said. She looked over her shoulder at Jugson, who was staring at them viciously. "I know that you're good with memory charms, Lucius."

"That's illegal," he said, seeming unbelieving of what she was saying.

"So is torturing someone in your basement."

"I want to kill him," he said solemnly.

Ginny shook her head. "You can't do that. You can't play creator, deciding whom you get to kill and who gets to leave. You know you can't do that. It doesn't matter how evil he is, how bad he is. The two of us are always going to have risks, as long as we are together—there are always going to be people who hate us." She paused. "Can you wipe his memory?"

Lucius looked at her for a moment. "I won't kill him. I will take care of it."

"Lucius."

"I won't. I won't kill him. I'll take care of it. I promise."

Ginny stared for a moment, and then nodded. "I trust you."

"Leave. Please. You're—I don't want to put our child at risk."

Ginny wanted to argue, wanted to rail against his command, but she truly wanted to get out of the dungeon, and she didn't want to put any stress on their baby either, didn't want to see how Lucius resolved the issue—she knew he wouldn't kill Jugson, if he had promised it to her, but she didn't want to see the end result, wanted to plead ignorance.

She nodded softly, stroking a hand once more over the golden cap of his hair. His eyes closed slightly at her touch.

She stood, and he helped her, his arms supporting her as she struggled with her girth. Ginny drew herself up to her full height, and took a few strong steps toward Jugson, standing in front of him, her arms on her hips.

She looked at him for a moment, and then shook her head, left the dungeon quietly, closed the door behind her.

---

It was a few hours before Lucius came up to their bedroom. He had changed out of the leather armour that he had been wearing in the dungeon, had showered somewhere else in the Manor, had combed his wet hair back and tied it.

Ginny was sitting on the bed, staring at him.

Lucius stood in the doorway.

"I'm not—I won't—I don't judge, Lucius." Her voice was small, but her arms were open. "I'm not afraid of you, if that is what you are worried about."

He shook his head, but it was a tentative movement, and so instead he walked across the carpet, climbing long-limbed and slowly onto the bed, facing her.

Ginny looked at him solemnly for a long moment. He seemed uncomfortable under he gaze, but let her stare, let her divine him.

She tilted her head, blinked slowly.

"Have you let it go now?"

He was silent for a bruised moment, the purple circles under his eyes even more evident now in the dusk light of the bedroom. Ginny noted how he looked exhausted, reticent, part guilty, part sated.

When he spoke his voice was roughened. "Let go of what?"

She looked hard at him. "That part of you. I wasn't sure if it was still present or not, but I guess there was still a vestige of it, deep down, somewhere."

"I won't be ashamed for protecting my family." His voice was not quite quavering but was not steady, either.

Ginny sighed. "No, you won't be. I just don't want you to do that again. Ever. Please, not ever."

Lucius moved closer to her, coming up onto his knees, placing a palm on either side of her face. "But if someone threatens us—I will do what I have to do."

They looked at each other, and realised the impasse, the things that between them would never be properly resolved, and then Ginny nodded, twice, and Lucius bent down to kiss her mouth softly.

So this was the final sacrifice they would be making for each other—Ginny was warmly satisfied that Lucius had protected not only her but also Hermione, but she was also worried at his way of taking care of things, no matter how deserving his victim had just been. Lucius was quietly in awe of her tacit acceptance of his violent regression, and was also silently telling her—with his hands, with his eyes—that if his family was so threatened again, he would revert to the same tactics to keep them safe, no matter what the consequences.

"I won't be sent back to prison. You know that. I can guarantee that."

His voice was quiet in the room, and Ginny resisted the urge to shiver, because she did know that, did know that he could dispose of anyone quietly and efficiently, could avoid prison under any circumstances, and while it should have scared her—maybe it could have been her, or a friend of hers that he would do that to—it didn't. For some slick and sick reason, it comforted her that she had a partner that was so intimate with the dark, the wicked—and who would protect her and her child no matter what.

She exhaled shakily into his mouth and nodded.

He pulled back, sliding under the covers beside her.

"Did I scare you?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "No." It was an honest answer. He had not.

And that was the part that surprised her the most, and it didn't disturb her but danced across her brain, questioning, as she curled around him in sleep.


	40. Chapter 39

"My goodness, Ginny. I can't get over how _huge_ you are." Hermione had a radiant smile on her face, and Ginny realised that it had been so long since she had seen such a look on Hermione's face. "Are you sure it isn't—twins?"

Ginny shuddered. "Yes, I am. I had the doctor test for twins specifically."

They were sitting in the main library. Hermione had all but demanded to see the room, and Ginny recognized that it was part because she loved books but also partly to continue avoiding the drawing room. Hermione's hands were spanned over Ginny's swollen middle—rounding up on her eighth month of pregnancy, Ginny had grown exponentially, had had to replace most of her maternity clothes with bigger ones, had started wearing Lucius' dressing gowns on a day-to-day basis. He didn't complain.

Lucius was back in the stacks. He had been sitting on an easy chair towards the rear of the room, reading, but had risen at some point, retreating into the shelves of books. Ginny had kept an eye on him, monitoring his reactions to Hermione. Thus far, he had been behaving himself, rarely glancing over his reading glasses.

Now he was somewhere in the bowels of the library, rummaging around. She could hear muted thumps and a few murmured expletives.

"What's he doing?" Hermione's voice was lowered, her head leaned in towards Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. "Who knows? As long as he isn't being antagonistic towards you, I'm fine with it. How has he been today?"

"Fair. He's been scowling a fair bit, but he hasn't let any _nicknames_ for me slip yet."

"That's a new record," Ginny sighed. "I can't apologise enough, really."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "I was quite aware of how my relationship with Lucius would run, Ginny. I didn't expect to visit the Manor and be treated like a Black. He's a touch better than his son. And at least he's trying. Inherently, he's never going to change—or if he does, it's going to only be marginally. But he's fiercely protective of you. And he loves you, even if he never says it." Ginny flushed. "That much is evident. You're a smart girl. If he didn't treat you well, I don't think you'd be here." Hermione levelled a discerning look at her. "And now there's going to be a child. I don't think Lucius would risk losing you and his baby by offending me so grievously. I have hopes for him. And we have more in common than I'd expect."

"_Hm_." Lucius was standing quietly to the side of them.

Hermione didn't start, but Ginny did, jumping slightly in her chair. Hermione turned, a slight smile on her face. "What were you doing back there, Lucius?"

He still refused to use her given name, but Hermione insisted on calling him Lucius. "It's like Voldemort, Ginny," she had said. "If I use his name, it takes away his power over me."

"Well," he said, holding out a thick book. "Take it."

Hermione hesitated slightly, but then extended steady hands to take the proffered tome from him. "What is it?"

"I heard that you were working with runes."

Hermione frowned slightly, still looking up at Lucius. "Yes—I'm working with Dumbledore's old copy of _Beedle the Bard_. Translating."

"This is an advanced translating book. From the 14th century."

Hermione's ears turned red. "Is this the first edition of the Syllabary?"

Lucius nodded. "You can bring it back whenever you are finished with it."

"I don't even know—thank you, I suppose. This is—I didn't even know any editions existed outside of the Ministry." Hermione had lowered her head, and Ginny suspected that it was to conceal the fact that her eyes had become brighter.

Lucius paused for a moment before nodding roughly. "It can't be exposed to bright light."

"I know." Hermione had regained herself, her head raised again. She met his eyes earnestly. "This means a great deal to me. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome." He looked mildly distressed, uncomfortable, and it seemed as though he was going to say something else, but he instead turned and walked back to his chair at the rear of the room, picking up the papers he had been writing on.

Ginny smiled shyly at Hermione, who was tracing reverent fingers across the cover of the book. Hermione looked back, her mouth open slightly, her eyes so bright.

"I should go. Ron is away for the night, training, and if I want to get a serious start on this book I need to take advantage of that." Hermione smiled blindingly at Ginny. "I'll owl you."

Ginny grinned at her, and Hermione opened her mouth as though to say something else, but stopped, and instead looked to the back of the room where Lucius was sitting, observing the entire interaction quietly and disinterestedly. Hermione bowed her head toward him, her expression solemn and appreciative, and Ginny was shocked to see that Lucius dipped his head tersely in return.

After Hermione had taken her leave, her voice fading down the mahogany hallway as she chatted with Balius, Ginny turned back to Lucius.

"That was lovely of you."

He looked faintly uncomfortable still. "It was nothing."

"No, that was _lovely_." She didn't say what she was thinking—that he was allowing a Muggleborn to actually touch his precious book collection. Instead, she slowly raised herself up, pressing a palm to her lower back, and walked over to him.

His eyes tracked her swollen movements, straying to her rounded middle. "Any movement today?"

Ginny winced slightly as she sat down between his spread legs, her back against his front, using the footstool to prop her feet on. "Yes, actually. _Your_ child is kicking especially violently today."

"Maybe said child was protesting Miss Granger's presence!" Lucius' smile was beaming, but was wiped off of his face when Ginny pinched his inner thigh. "Let me feel." He placed a palm across her belly. Ginny sighed and leaned back into him, her eyes dropping closed, her chin tucked. "I can't feel anything."

"Just wait. You should speak again. Baby recognises your voice."

"Really?" He sat up a little straighter at that.

Ginny nodded.

"I like that."

When Ginny had first suggested that Lucius speak, or read, or murmur to her womb, he had balked so fiercely that she had been surprised. It still amazed her how Lucius could be so comfortable with the fluids of their bodies, with the art of fucking, with wielding a whip so ferociously, withstanding the spatter of blood—and yet, trying to introduce him to something as maternal and foreign to him as reading to her belly, he became skittish.

Ginny had levelled him with a narrow-eyed stare, had pointed out that he had had such a dark and disgusting past, and he couldn't even fathom what she had just suggested—was there something wrong with him?

Lucius Malfoy had been silenced by his pregnant partner, had been momentarily ashamed—only momentarily—and then their nights had spanned out into Ginny sitting up in bed with Lucius on his back beside her, talking half to her and half to his unborn child.

The place under his hand jumped.

"I told you," she murmured, burrowing back farther into him.

Lucius pressed his palm more firmly into her, raising his other hand to join it. He hadn't spoken since feeling the baby kick out, and Ginny knew that was because if he did, his voice would be cracking. Instead, he let the paternal pressure of his hands do the speaking, his fingers spanned across her middle.

He let her drift off to sleep against him. She had been so tired lately, and he knew it was because she was using so much more energy just to propel herself around. Lucius sat quietly, enjoying the lush feel of her body, the hardness of her stomach. Ginny had gained weight during the pregnancy, the flesh around her hips becoming softer, her breasts becoming heavier. He smiled as he traced the knuckle of one finger up the centre line of her body, brushing it lightly across her left breast and nipple, watching her as she murmured in her sleep and twisted against him. Her skin had become so sensitive. He had spent an entire night just playing on her nipples, amazed at her new ability to come just from that stimulation, and he had brought her to orgasm again and again just by pressing her breasts together and suckling both nipples into his mouth at the same time.

His child was kicking out an aggressive tattoo, the little hits reverberating along his palm.

"Good for you," Lucius murmured. He liked that his progeny was assertive and physical. This new son or daughter was going to have to aggressive enough to make it through the world, especially as an illegitimate Malfoy.

He suddenly shook Ginny awake.

"Will it be a Malfoy?"

"What?" She looked up at him blearily, her voice thick. "What will—what?"

"The baby. Our baby. Will it be a Malfoy? Or a—or a Weasley?"

"Malfoy." Ginny exhaled and turned back, nestling against him again.

"Why?" Lucius was stunned at her admission. He had expected a bitter fight over the last name of his child.

"Because it means so much to you." She was falling asleep again, her voice drifting. "Because you want it. Because I'm hoping that the baby has bright red hair and therefore won't need the Weasley last name in order to be identified as such." She was laughing at him now, he could tell. He jabbed a finger into her side, and she laughed out loud, jerking away from him.

"Well, I'm awake now." Ginny used his thighs as leverage and pushed herself up, groaning. "Hermione's right. I _am_ huge. Were you abnormally large when you were born?"

Lucius stood up behind her, bracing her body with his arms, something that she noticed him doing so often now—unconscious and gentle actions that she was sure that he didn't notice he was doing. "No. I suppose my seed is just exceptionally virile. I like you large like this, though."

"You like it because it's a visual reminder of your virility," she laughed. "And it gives you a sense of ownership over me. And men are less likely to flirt with me when they see I'm pregnant."

"_Less_ likely? Men shouldn't be flirting with you at _all_ when you're carrying my baby." He sounded scandalised.

"Well, I haven't been out, really—I haven't been able to experience it."

They had decided, a few months back, that it was best if Ginny was photographed at some point, so that the public was aware of her pregnancy. She was tired of hiding under billowing robes, and so one morning, when she went shopping in Diagon Alley, she had worn a form-fitting outfit.

The maelstrom following had been unreal.

Lucius hadn't let her look at any of the headlines, hadn't really looked at them himself, had only barricaded the two of them in the master bedroom for four days, getting Balius to bring Ginny's favourite food right to the room, had read to her and had gone down on her until all thoughts of malicious newspapers were out of both of their heads.

"Good grief," Ginny continued, placing her hands at her back. "I know I'm supposed to enjoy being pregnant, but I have to say that I'm glad there are only a few weeks left of this. My back hurts. My feet hurt. And you won't have sex with me."

"It's the last month. I don't want to hurt you."

"I have a normal pregnancy, Lucius. Theoretically, we can have sex."

"I don't want to risk anything."

"I know, I know." Ginny walked slowly toward the door. "I should just go to bed now. Even though it's only—" she looked at the clock "—eight-thirty. Good lord. And your baby is wide-awake, too. Come up when you're done down here." She moved over the door, turning back to look at him. "And thank you for lending that book to her."

"I—well, you're welcome." He swallowed whatever cynical riposte he had been planning, and Ginny smiled at him over her shoulder.

---

Ginny sat straight up, her nine-month belly hindering her process somewhat.

"Oh."

Something was different. She felt hot and tetchy and roiling and also—damp.

She grabbed for her wand and illuminated the bed. Lucius moaned something unintelligible beside her, burrowing his head under the white curtain of his hair. Taking her light source, she lifted the sheets, exposing his long and naked body beside her but also her splayed, bare thighs. Between her legs, there was a puddle of liquid on the bed sheets—clear—and she could feel it still seeping out of her.

"Lucius. Wake up."

While he slowly opened his eyes, Ginny was already pushing herself up and out of bed, grabbing one of his robes and wrapping it around her body.

Suddenly, he was on his feet, all of his instincts kicking in rapidly.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Lucius looked down at the thrown-back bed covers, and then looked back up at her with an odd look on his face. "Did you wet the bed?"

"No!" She laughed out loud then, a loud chortle of a laugh. "Nothing is wrong," she said, smiling slightly. "I think I've just gone into labour."

"_What_?" Lucius grabbed a pair of trousers off of the bureau, and started pulling them on, having to steady himself using a bedpost, nearly falling over in the process.

"I'm not going to have the baby right _here_. Don't hurt yourself!" Ginny laughed again, and then her brow creased as she folded her hands over her stomach. "Oh—" She, too, braced a hand on the bedpost, leaning forward, breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" Lucius nearly ran around to her side of the bed.

"I'm—fine. There, it passed. They'll get worse, though. Lucius, you look like a chicken with its head cut off." Ginny petted his cheek, feeling the tenseness of his jaw. "Just please grab the bag in the closet, and put a shirt on, unless you want to go to the hospital bare-chested. Which I would be fine with, by the way. Do you need a drink? You look pale."

Lucius stared at her for a moment, and then smiled slowly. "So disquieting, you are—even when you are about to give birth." He bent over and kissed her, and he could feel her smiling back against his lips.

---

Ginny walked around the large private room that she was now situated in.

St. Mungo's had not been so busy at two in the morning, which had made Lucius propelling her tightly and quickly through the hallways an easier task. Nurses had scattered out of his way so quickly that Ginny had been afraid to look up into his face, knowing that he would look steely, hard-set.

Said man was sitting in the corner of the room, watching her.

"Should you be walking?"

"Yes, actually. It helps with the first stage of labour. Oh, god." Ginny groaned and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the bed, moving her hips from side to side as she rode out another contraction, breathing slowly and with purpose.

"I feel useless," Lucius murmured after the contraction had passed, standing and moving beside her.

Ginny laughed breathlessly. "You're not useless. Just be here and support me. You wanted an in-depth view of pregnancy and birth, after all." She drew Lucius to her, kissing him lightly on the mouth. "And don't get frightened if I yell at you during the birth."

He frowned slightly.

Hermione Granger burst into the room, panting slightly. Lucius jumped.

"Am I too late?"

"Do you see an _infant_, Miss Granger?"

Ginny pinched him and turned to Hermione, grinning widely. "How did you know?"

Hermione smiled and flicked her eyes over to Lucius, who stuffed his hands in his pockets and flushed slightly.

"Did you let Hermione know about—"

"I sent an owl to her when you were in the bathroom. Before we left." He looked embarrassed and cranky on being called out, but Ginny shuffled over to him and gave him another light kiss regardless.

"No, Hermione, you're not too late. At the moment, I'm about 4 centimetres dilated. I've already lost the cervical plug, which Lucius was horrified at. I thought he was going to faint."

"That's erroneous. I've seen worse than that," was his dry reply from the corner, and Hermione paled slightly.

"I'm just walking to ease the labour pains. It could be hours from now. And I'm bored. Lucius tried reading the Prophet to me and it was too dry."

"I brought books," Hermione said gleefully, pulling some tomes out of her satchel. "Lucius suggested it, actually."

"I'm going to go to the cafeteria to get some tea," he muttered, rising. Ginny laughed, and squeezed his arm as he passed by, watching his buttocks as he left the room.

"Did you—did you tell Ron?" Ginny turned slightly pink as she asked the question, even pinker as Hermione bit her lip. "Oh."

"I mentioned it to him as I left. I didn't get to see his reaction—I don't know what he thinks of it. I told him to come, obviously, but—"

"No, no, that's fine. I'm just very happy that you're here." Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand, and brushed away the tears from her face with the back of the other.

"Don't cry," Hermione said suddenly, drawing Ginny into her arms. "Here, I can read to you. I brought some of the novels that I've been reading lately. Come on, keep walking, and I'll start them." Ginny nodded and turned away, rubbing at her eyes, resuming her steady pace.

Lucius came back into the room to see Hermione lying back on the couch, reading out loud to Ginny, who was strolling around the room.

"Here." He shoved a cup of tea at Hermione's face. She paused her reading and sat up.

"Darjeeling. That's my favourite."

"I know. I _notice_ things," Lucius sniped back. When he turned to see Ginny, Hermione smiled behind his back.

---

Seven hours later, Ginny had her hair pulled back in a loose bun, stray tendrils sticking to her face, her hands braced on the bed as she endured another contraction. Lucius was sitting on the bed in front of her, his hands overtop of her own, murmuring phrases of encouragement to her, and Hermione was half-asleep on the couch in the room, her finger still holding her place in her book.

Ginny's face was slick with sweat, her eyes closed, her teeth grinding.

"They're getting stronger," she breathed.

"Our child wants to meet us," he said wryly, brushing her hair back from her face. "You're doing exceptionally well. When Narcissa gave birth, I could hear her screams from the other wing of the Manor."

"How charming to talk about your ex-wife at this point in time." Ginny gritted her teeth at him.

"I'm not trying to bring her to mind," Lucius explained, soothing knuckles over her eyebrows. "I'm trying to tell you how stoic and how strong you are. This is something that I will never be able to experience."

"I know," she whispered, digging her fingers into the bed covers. "Good lord, this gown is irritating me. Would it be improper to take it off and just be naked?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Well—no, I suppose not."

She reached a hand down between her legs, hiking up the hated hospital gown. He watched, amazed, as she inserted her fingers into herself, feeling around. "The midwife says that there are only two more centimetres to go, now."

"What are you _doing_?"

"I was just—well, I was feeling for the baby's head, but it's not there yet. Just hopeful, I guess." She blushed a little, and then slapped her hands onto his thighs, digging her fingers in. "Another one." Lucius placed a hand on her belly and the other on her neck, stroking at her as she groaned out the pain. "These are really painful." She disengaged from him, lunging deeply and taking wide steps.

"Does that help?"

"Not with the pain," Ginny breathed, "but with moving the baby into the right position. Helping the birth process." She grabbed her belly again. "Jesus, they are close—" The rest of her words were replaced by an animalistic groan, along with some choice expletives that Lucius had never heard her say before.

Hermione was upright on the couch. "Is it time yet?"

"No, _no_, bloody **no**," Ginny chanted, half-shouting, roiling her hips from side to side, holding onto Lucius' shirtfront as he patted her back. "I have two more centimetres to go. I can't feel the baby's head. And it's been seven hours. This baby doesn't want to leave—" Her last word trailed off into a moan.

Lucius had never heard sounds like that. Her small hands were curled into his shirt and trousers, leaving damp palm-prints, and her eyes were closed, her face framed by the light fine curls of hair that were sticking to it. She was biting her lip, pulling at her own hair, dropping her head forward. Hermione was looking at him from over top of Ginny's bent body, and was miming something frantically.

So he stood, and gently re-positioned Ginny's hands on the bed, coming to stand behind her, and held her hips as she cried out again. He was amazed at the pure power of her muscles, the primal energy that was throbbing through her body.

Lucius ran firm hands up and down her back, kneading at her sacral muscles. "You're doing something I can't ever do. I'm immensely proud of you right now."

"I can't," she said, her voice slightly muffled.

"You are," he replied, kissing the back of her neck.

---

The midwife and an accompanying doctor came in an hour later.

Ginny was facing backwards on a chair, a pillow wedged between her body and the rungs, and Lucius was sitting similarly on another chair, facing her, so that their faces were mere inches apart. Hermione was firmly stroking Ginny's back, occasionally helping to brush away the tears that were falling.

When she saw the midwife, Ginny looked up.

"Is it time to push? Oh please, tell me it's time to push."

"Almost, now. Just a few minutes longer."

Her head fell forward onto her arms, but Lucius grabbed a hand and kissed it, biting lightly into the palm.

Ginny rose and stood, crying out as another contraction hit, and then another, and then another in rapid succession.

"Are you _sure _that she cannot start to give birth yet?" Lucius sounded furious.

"Give it a few more moments, Mr. Malfoy."

He gritted his teeth, hearing his wailing partner in the background. He watched as Hermione held her hips as she rode out another painful contraction.

After what seemed like forever, the midwife checked Ginny's dilation for the last time, and looked up at her with a smile. "Well, you're officially fully dilated. And the contractions are coming close enough that I think it might be time to push."

Ginny made a half-crying, half-moaning sound, her eyes shut and her head thrown back.

She remained standing, which puzzled Lucius, and moved to the foot of the bed, bracing herself on it, facing outwards.

"What the hell is going on?" Lucius hissed his question at Hermione, who was looking equally putout.

"I'm guessing that the contractions are especially strong right now."

"_Lucius_!" Lucius stood up immediately, reacting to the harsh sound of Ginny's voice. "Lucius, I need you to be behind me, now." She was tearing up, her eyes wet, her hand white on the footboard.

"Why? _What_? Shouldn't you be lying down now?" Lucius looked back at the bed linens.

"Ginny's chosen to deliver in a squatting position."

Hermione watched as Lucius' face turned white.

"_What_?"

"Lucius, please." Her voice had changed to plaintive and sweet, and he realised that she truly needed him in this moment. "I won't be able to support myself in this position without your help."

It wasn't so much a fatherly feeling that swept over him as much as it was one of intense protectorship. His normally stoic partner had been reduced to moaning and crying out, and was directly informing him of how much she needed him at that moment. Ginny was about to deliver _their_ baby—his baby—and although he was somewhat wary of the process—felt out of place in this world that he deemed all woman and too primal—he realised that she was going to need his help.

"I'd be careful of your shirt, Mr. Malfoy. And your shoes. This might not be neat and clean."

Lucius blanched slightly, but toed off his shoes and kicked them to the side. Hermione had, thoughtfully, left the room without either of them noticing, seemingly to give them some privacy during the pushing time. Therefore, Lucius felt no hesitation about sliding off his shirt.

"And take this gown off of me!" Lucius shared a slight smile with the midwife, but obeyed Ginny, pulling the hospital clothing off of her body.

He moved behind her, hooking his arms underneath hers.

Lucius was truly struck with how primal the situation was. With Narcissa, he had been relegated to another wing of the Manor, and he was positive that she had given birth lying down. Ginny, however, was stark naked, assuming an upright and powerful position, her legs splayed and her feet planted firmly into the ground. The midwife knelt between her thighs. Lucius could feel the hot sweat of her back against his naked chest, realised how they would look to any observer, realised how he suddenly didn't care what the midwife thought, how he wouldn't have cared even if Hermione _had_ been in the room.

Ginny abruptly threw her head back, and Lucius had to struggle, suddenly, to hold up her weight. She made a sound that was akin to a roar, and he looked down into her face, her eyes open and staring back at him, at her pupils, her red mouth. She was straining.

"I don't think you'll be pushing for too long." The midwife was still down between her thighs. "That's good. Keep pushing. Do you feel an urge to?"

"Yes," Ginny shouted, her squat getting lower. "Yes, _yes_, I do—oh, sweet god—" She strained again, and Lucius could feel all of her body tense up, the sheet of muscle on belly so impressive, the trembling of her thighs—he hefted her slightly in his arms, carrying more of her weight along his biceps and chest. His chin was over her shoulder.

"One more push should get us to the crowning."

Ginny breathed deeply and pushed again, making a low-pitched growling sound. Suddenly she cried out.

"And that's the crowning. Your baby's head is out. You can feel it if you want." The midwife took Ginny's hand and rubbed it between her legs, over the baby's head.

Lucius assumed it hurt—badly. Ginny's eyes had welled up, and for a moment, she looked and scared.

"Keep going, Ginevra." He murmured his words into her ear. "You're so close to bringing our new child into the world. I can't wait to meet them. You're so strong—keep going."

She pushed again, clenching her teeth, screaming out, screaming_ out_, and there was liquid that may have been urine, and she was sweating against him, shouting, wailing, and the push seemed to never end—massive push, strong push, painful, painful, and there were tears tracking down her body, mixing with all of the sweat and the liquids and everything, and then—

Then a tiny body slipped out between her legs, into the midwife's waiting and gentle hands, and Lucius heard the thin cry of his new—

"It's a girl."

—Daughter.

"Oh my god," he murmured, his arms around Ginny but his eyes on the baby.

"Perfectly healthy."

And then the baby was laid on Ginny's chest, and Ginny started to cry, pillowing the infant on her breasts. The two of them had slid to the ground, and the umbilical cord was still attached, but Lucius watched as they cut it, and their baby—_their baby_—was mewling and moving on Ginny's breasts.

"She's perfect. And disgusting-looking," Ginny said through garbled tears, although she was laughing, too. The midwife was examining Ginny, and stitching her, and healing her, and then there was the afterbirth, which neither of them truly noticed.

Lucius was, in fact, struck speechless.

When their daughter was briefly taken away to be cleaned, he helped Ginny to the bed and held her hand as she slid between the sheets. When she was settled, he pulled the covers over her, making her laugh as he fussed with the top of the comforter, trying to make sure it was straight and even. Lucius scowled at her, and then pulled his shirt back on. As he was re-tying his hair, she spoke to him.

"Come into the bed, too." Her voice was calm and nearly tired, but firm.

"How?"

"Behind me." She leaned forward slightly, wincing, and Lucius hesitated for a moment before he slid into the bed behind her body, his legs outstretched on either side, overtop of the blankets. She leaned back against him, sighing.

"I'm sorry if I became too maudlin," she said.

He laughed out loud. "Not at all, silly thing. You just gave birth to our child—without any pain alleviation—and it was the most amazing and terrifying thing I've ever seen. You were allowed to be maudlin at times." He kissed her temple, and she patted his knee lightly, her fingertips squeezing him.

"Have you decided on a name?" The midwife was wrapping their daughter in a blanket.

Ginny answered.

"Phaedra Bronte."

"Big name for a little girl," the midwife said, handing the bundled baby over to Ginny's waiting arms.

"We know."

The staff left them, and Ginny cradled the little thing of warmth in the crook of her arms. "I don't think she needs feeding yet. Hold her." She turned slightly in his arms and held the baby out to him.

Lucius paused before reaching out and taking his daughter, crooking his arm and holding her effortlessly.

"I have to say—it's been a while since I've done this," he said, smiling, Ginny with her upper body turned around to watch him. "I never thought I'd get to do it again—" He bowed his head suddenly, stopping speaking, and she patted him on the thigh, turning partially around again, moving to one side so that he had room to hold their child.

He raised his head again, and before she could catch his eyes, he wrapped his free hand in her hair, pulling her toward him, and kissed her hard, his tongue tangling with hers. She sighed into his mouth, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

A soft baby sound from between them interrupted their kiss. Lucius laughed a sticky laugh, and looked down at the new member of their family.

"Yes, you too." Their daughter was frowning up at them. "I think she's going to—" She opened her mouth and cried thinly. "Yes, she's probably hungry." Lucius handed the baby back to Ginny, and she cradled her, allowing the baby to latch onto an exposed breast.

"There you go," she murmured.

"Be prepared for many sleepless nights," Lucius laughed in her ear. "Draco was so finicky that I actually got up at nights—when Narcissa was too tired. I wonder if I can still remember the songs I had to sing."

"How encouraging," Ginny laughed back, her voice bell-like and exhausted.

There was a soft tap at the door.

"Come in," she called. Lucius was watching as his daughter fed, a long finger stroking the baby's downy cheek.

Hermione poked her head around the door, a huge smile on her face.

"Well?"

Lucius didn't even have a snarky riposte for her. His eyes were still on his daughter.

"Meet Phaedra." Ginny smiled, her eyes still red from crying, her cheeks blotchy.

Hermione stepped out from behind the door. "There's actually—well—er—" Ginny look questioningly at her. Hermione breathed again, a deep sigh of a breath, and spoke. "You have visitors." She stepped into the room, and from behind the door came three other figures.

"Oh my god," Ginny breathed. Bill and Charlie stood in the doorway, Bill with his hands in his pockets and Charlie with his stockier arms crossed along his chest. From behind them, a darker head poked out—Harry's tell-tale askew glasses and floppy hair. The three new men in the room looked slightly awkward.

Lucius noticed the differences in the three of them almost immediately. Charlie's eyes tracked immediately to the baby, his eyes softening around the edges as he did so. Harry looked right to Ginny, his gaze going to her breasts. Lucius' arms tightened around her in reaction to that. Bill, however, looked straight at Lucius, their eyes meeting evenly. Lucius refused to look away.

"Bill—Charlie—Harry—" Ginny started to cry again, her arms tightening around her daughter.

"We've been out in the waiting room for a few hours," Bill explained, frowning slightly. "Ron told Harry about the labour, who owled us—we were the—we are the only ones who came, Gin." The three of them were in the doorway, obviously hesitant to come in.

Lucius looked up, one hand still cupped around his daughter's head, the other hand entwined with Ginny's, resting on her shoulder.

She couldn't see his eyes at that moment, but the four figures in the doorway could, and it was a look that was not quite discernable, and certainly not forgettable. Lucius looked exhausted and yet also elated, and then terrified and yet protective, and his eyes shone with a kind of fear—fear that perhaps the reappearance of her siblings would take Ginny away from him—and yet there was happiness and relief, too—relief that she finally had a piece of her family back, if only for a moment.

He said nothing.

Charlie and Bill stared back at him, unsure. Harry looked at Ginny, who smiled weakly at him, and Hermione looked at the baby, her eyes welling up.

"Malfoy." Charlie inclined his head, Bill doing the same after a moment's pause.

Lucius was motionless for a brief pause, and then returned the action honestly.

"Do you want to see Phaedra?" Ginny held her arm up slightly, raising the baby, who had finished feeding.

"Yes," Hermione said, rushing over to the bed. Lucius made a tsk-ing sound in the back of his throat.

"Bill, Charlie—come here." Ginny crooked her head. "Come see your niece, please."

"She has your eyes, Lucius," Hermione breathed, and while he flinched at the use of his given name, he was also perceptibly pleased at the statement.

"What colour hair?" Harry was closer to the bedside than before.

"Too early to tell, really," Ginny replied. "Bill. Hold her."

Bill was the nearest brother to the bedside, and he tried to back up as Ginny brandished the baby at him, but Harry was directly behind him and nudged him forward slightly, and so he had to take the newborn into his arms.

"Uncle Bill," Hermione said, smiling but crying. Ginny had to reach up and wipe the tears off of her cheeks, laughing at her.

Ginny watched, quiet, breath held, as her eldest brother held her new baby. Lucius stared as well, his eyes narrowed, his mouth silent. Ginny could feel that he was poised for action—his legs coiled in case he had to spring up, grab his child from the freckled hands of the eldest Weasley sibling, prepared for some sort of disaster—

Bill glanced up at her.

"She's beautiful." His eyes were soft, and Ginny exhaled shakily, starting to cry. Charlie stroked the baby's cheek softly, taking her from Bill's arms, and Ginny cried harder, so much that Lucius bent to kiss the top of her head, squeezing her hand subtly. Charlie was murmuring to the baby, and Harry was talking with Hermione, and all of a sudden Ginny was exhausted, and fell back heavily against Lucius' torso.

"Dad wanted to come, Gin." Charlie looked up suddenly and spoke to her, cradling Phaedra against his chest. Ginny sucked in a breath. "He did, but he just can't—yet. Not yet." She nodded silently, her eyes rimmed red, but her mouth stoic.

"I think we should go," Hermione murmured. "You look exhausted, Gin. You've been hard at work." She laughed, and bent to kiss the head of red hair, her tears tracking onto Ginny's forehead.

Charlie reached out, at first making as though to hand the baby back to Ginny, and then paused, shifted, and handed her to Lucius instead, who met his eyes silently but nodded, accepting his daughter into his arms. The small truce was sealed in that moment, the significance of the fact that Charlie had actively passed the child onto Lucius not lost on anyone.

"Congratulations," Charlie said, almost brusquely, and Lucius nodded again.

"Thank you, Weasley."

"You've been given a second chance. Don't fuck it up, Malfoy." Bill's voice was lower, and Ginny growled and pinched him as he spoke, but Lucius narrowed his eyes in a discerning manner and inclined his head.

"I don't plan to."

"Don't swear around my baby," Ginny muttered.

Harry tilted his head to the side, watching them.

"And you, Harry?"

"I think you look happy."

Ginny nodded, and then yawned.

"We'll come back later," Harry said.

The four left the room, and Ginny sighed.

"That went better than I expected, actually. I had no idea they would come."

Lucius stroked her neck thoughtfully. "They were civil. I don't think it's ever—going to be the same, Ginevra."

"I know," she said quietly. There was silence as they sat, comfortably. "Can you put her in the cot, please?"

"I'll hold her for a while, actually."

Ginny nodded her assent, and Lucius slid out from behind her, taking the baby from her outstretched arms, and held her upright over a shoulder, a large hand enveloping her head and back. He moved over to the couch and sat down on it, watching as Ginny turned over in the bed and fell asleep.

Lucius held his daughter close to his chest, feeling her concentrated warmth on his skin. She was swaddled in her blanket, wearing a little cap that one of the nurses had put on her. She scowled up at him again, and he smiled, patting her back as he burped her. He rubbed his cheek lightly against her skin, spreading his fingers across her back.

"You are going to have a harder lot in life," he murmured. "Not in your family life—we will care for you so fiercely it will make our hearts hurt. But people are going to make fun of you. They are going to tease you. And you will be hurt by it. Nobody wanted your mother and I to be together. But we will protect you, and we will listen to you, and we will help you through everything. So be brave, little light. You have a long and hard and wonderful road ahead of you." He kissed her head.

She yawned.

Lucius laughed.

When Ginny woke up a few hours later, he was stretched out, supine, on the couch, asleep, his long legs over the end, his daughter sleeping in a tiny bundle on his chest.


	41. Chapter 40

Draco traced his fingers over the study door, his face half-hidden behind the jamb.

Ginny was standing in the middle of the study, a small bundle over her shoulder.

He knew that she could see him, and he felt slightly childish for hiding behind the wood frame—as though he were hiding behind his father's pant legs, or something similar.

She was standing on the carpet, her arms wrapped around his new partial sister, one palm tracing firmly up and down the baby's back, her eyes trained on Draco. Lucius was absent—Draco had a feeling that Ginny had made him make himself scarce in order for this meeting to happen.

She looked incandescent, really. She looked tired but her eyes were bright.

He stepped into the study slowly, sliding out from behind the doorframe.

What was this new baby? Not even his stepsister, because his father and Ginny weren't even married. Maybe a half-sister, but that term sounded so base, so degrading—as if this new addition to the Malfoy family wasn't worthy.

Ginny was looking at him, her hand still tracing over the child's back.

Draco made a slight face, and stepped farther toward her, his feet sure but slow.

Before he reached her, he spoke.

"I'm sorry it took so long."

His voice was rushed and it was so unlike him that he winced, physically reacting to the childish way he sounded. Ginny smiled small, and in that moment Draco understood that she understood, and there was a great wave of relief that start from his thighs and worked its way up to the crown of his head.

He breathed out slowly, and that was when she offered the baby to him.

Ginny watched him as she gave Phaedra to him. Draco flinched for a moment, but Ginny decided that it was not because of his nervousness around her, but more of a rote young-male reaction to being handed a new infant.

"You know what to do," she said softly, and Draco looked up at her, half-smiling, some of his bravado returned, and he reached out with capable and strong arms, taking her daughter and his half-sister from her. "Meet Phaedra."

"Good name," Draco murmured, expertly hefting the infant up to the crook of his arm, moving over to the couch and sitting down seamlessly. Ginny was somewhat agog at his child-handling skills.

"You're good with her."

"Yes, well," Draco said, still looking down at the baby, "many of my Pureblood cohorts are already married with families, you see." He looked up at Ginny, a bittersweet look in his eyes, and she winced inwardly. "You do good work, Weasley," he continued, glancing back down. "She looks like a Malfoy."

"She does _not_," Ginny said. "I think her hair might be red. Reddish."

Draco laughed, startling Phaedra, who started to fuss. "It is not red. It's blonde, you ninny. Oh, shite." He spoke directly to the baby. "I've scared you, haven't I?"

Ginny was surprised. He was speaking in that universal baby-language, that oscillating and higher-pitched tone of voice that people reserved for speaking to infants and animals. He was a natural, just like his father was. He was collected, whereas she just felt scattered with her own daughter.

"I meant to come earlier. I just—couldn't," Draco said.

"That's fine."

"Has your family come yet?" And that was so Draco—the blunt line of questioning, nothing danced around.

Ginny exhaled. "Some of them."

"Good," he said firmly, and all of a sudden she felt warm—safe.

* * *

Lucius watched as Ginny sat on the couch in his study, her legs bent at the knee and the soles of her feet on the cushions below her. She was holding Phaedra in her arms, resting her forearms along the support of her thighs. Ginny's face was down close to their daughter, and she was smiling, laughing at the grotesque and complicated facial expressions that Phaedra was making.

Ginny looked tired—he could see that. Phaedra was not yet sleeping through the night. But she looked beautiful, too—alive and incandescent with something that he had not seen in anyone in a while, something that he had forgotten that Narcissa had had, that radiance of a new parent.

He wondered if he looked like that as well.

Ginny laughed down at their daughter, who was making fantastical faces up at her, twiddling her little hands around aimlessly. Lucius smiled at the sound, laying the paperwork he had been looking over to one side, watching his new family function.

* * *

The wail broke the staccato sleep that Ginny had been having.

She was up on her hands and knees in an instant, pushing herself properly upright, her hair tangled around her face. Beside her, Lucius grunted and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Oh, come off it," she hissed, and yanked the pillow away from him. His eyes remained shut even as he spoke.

"I'm too old for this. I'm far too old for this."

"Well, I'm not, you _old_ prig, so you're going to have to help me, considering you went through this already. And I need help." Ginny threw the pillow back at his head, and he didn't even bother to move it after it had hit him.

She crossed the room and opened the door to the connecting nursery, leaving it open out of spite for her sleeping partner, and walked to the bassinet, lifting up her crying daughter.

"What's wrong, little light?" Her hand slid down. "No nappy problems. I think you're hungry."

Ginny brought her wailing daughter back through the rooms to the master bed, sitting up against the headboard, and slipped her nightgown down to her waist. The baby latched on to her breast immediately and fed quietly.

She let her head fall back against the wall. Lucius turned over onto his back and watched her.

"Don't fret, Ginevra. It's only been a few weeks. She'll start sleeping through the night soon."

"How can you know?" Her eyes were still closed. "God, look at us. Lucius, we look a mess."

It was true. Both of them had been looking less than stellar lately, purple and blue sleep circles underneath their eyes. All of Ginny's nightgowns and many of her day clothes were covered in spit-up.

Lucius sat up, the sheet falling to his waist. "Don't worry. It will work out." He kissed her bare shoulder, touching Phaedra's downy hair.

"I feel disgusting."

"You don't look disgusting." He was telling the truth. She looked tired, yes, but she was soft and luscious, and there was something so beautiful and wonderful about her with their new child—he liked seeing the two together.

She snorted.

"You don't. I'm not lying. You look—you look womanly."

"You mean overweight."

"No," he said, smiling. "I mean soft and good and curvy." He put his nose to her neck and inhaled. "And you smell sweeter now. Than before. It's nice."

Ginny winced, and then looked down at him. "You're hard!" Her voice wasn't so much scandalised as it was plaintive. They hadn't been having sex because of the discomfort she had suffered after birth—the doctor hadn't yet cleared her.

He smiled wryly. "I'm always hard."

"I can't stand it either. But I'm going to see the doctor at the six week mark, and if she clears me, we can have sex."

"And that's in a week."

"Yes. God, yes." Ginny looked down at her breast. "All done, I think."

"Here, give her to me. I'll burp her. Grab me a cloth, please." Lucius rose out of bed, still naked, and took his daughter and one of the burping cloths from Ginny, slinging it over his shoulder. He strolled the room, patting the heel of his hand along his child's back. Ginny watching him—the indolent roll of his buttocks, the tightness of his calves—and she was overcome.

She had been having dreams about sex lately, about straddling Lucius and riding him until both of them were crying out plaintively, thrashing. She had been waking up wet and aroused, on the tail of an orgasm, her thighs clenching and desperate.

"There." Lucius walked back through the rooms, and Ginny could see him through the open door, laying the baby back into the bassinet.

When he came back into the bedroom, she had taken her nightgown off completely, sitting up on the bed, naked. His mouth nearly opened, but his protective instinct kicked in before his arousal did.

"Aren't you cold?" He frowned slightly, bending to pick her clothing up off of the floor.

"No—come here." She knelt up on the bed, beckoning to him with her open palms. Lucius stopped and tilted his head, taking in her naked breasts, her hardened nipples in the chilly room.

He walked over to the bed.

"Come in," she murmured, and tugged him over her, settling him up against the headboard, sitting up, his legs outstretched.

"What are you doing?"

Ginny leaned over and kissed him deeply, and he exhaled into her mouth.

"Just shut up before I change my mind."

He raised his eyebrows at her, but she slid under the sheets, nestling between his legs. He was still painfully hard—she could see that, at least, in the dark—and when she reached out and wrapped a hand around his erection his hips jumped.

"Ginevra—you don't have to—oh, _shite_—"

She had sucked the head of him into her mouth, tracing her tongue slowly around the crest. When she pulled him out, she spat on the rest of his length, working her fist up and down and lubricating his entire cock.

Lucius let out a hiss but kept the covers over her head.

She kept up a slow and wet pace, keeping her lips wrapped tightly and hotly around him, using the tip of her tongue to flick at his frenulum. Occasionally, she would slide him out of her mouth and suck wetly down the side, or maybe kiss, or maybe bite lightly, and he would purr encouragements from above her, his thighs tensing underneath her petting hands.

Finally, she licked her way down to his testicles, and when she took one into her mouth, he growled. "Yes—" and then she licked between the two and took the second one in her mouth, bathing them both with her tongue, licking the sensitive seam of skin, and when she came back up to suck on him again, she increased the pace.

"Ah," he stuttered, his heels digging into the mattress and his hips rising up into the air. "Ah—_ah_—" He was thrusting mercilessly into her mouth now, almost too far in, and Ginny was making wet sounds as he did so, her small, tight fist moving up and down the rest of him with every hip movement he made. His hands flew down, on top of the sheets, and pushed down on her head. "Fuck _me_," he groaned.

Ginny laughed around her mouthful and sucked a finger into her mouth simultaneously, wetting it, and then suddenly inserted that same finger into his anus.

"Holy _shite_," he bellowed. She could feel him pulsing in her mouth, and she crooked her finger slightly, and—

Lucius yelled something—and it sounded like he was biting down on a fist—and dug his heels into the mattress as hard as he could, one hand pushing down on her head overtop of the bed sheets and the other tangled in the mattress cover, and he came in her mouth, so many waves of come that Ginny could hardly contain them all, some semen dripping out of her mouth and down his length, onto his skin.

He collapsed, and she tugged the sheet off of her head. When he looked down at her, she opened her mouth, showing him his come, and then swallowed deeply.

"Oh, good lord," Lucius groaned, twitching as she lightly licked around the tip of his cock, cleaning up all the stray droplets, dabbing her fingers onto his skin, catching the semen she had missed. When she had cleaned him completely, she crawled back up his body, resting her breasts on his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hard, tasting his own salt and bitterness in her mouth.

"As soon as the doctor says it's fine, we are giving our daughter to a nurse elf for the day and we are _fucking_. We are _fucking_ for hours on end." His voice was gruff. Ginny was already falling asleep on his chest, and he squeezed her buttocks lightly. "You're a good mother and a good wife, Ginevra."

That woke her up properly.

Ginny raised her head up and stared at him.

"What?" He looked back at her. "I don't hear Phaedra crying again—_what_?" His eyes narrowed at her.

"That's the second time you've done that, Lucius." Ginny frowned at him.

"Done—what?" He looked confused.

"You just called me your wife."

His face was expressionless, but she could tell that he was going back over their conversation in his mind, sorting through all of his words meticulously.

There was a pause.

"When did I do it before?" He sounded a little distant.

"That night we went out to dinner—after I told you I'd go off of my birth control. You did it at dinner." She sounded a little frantic, and Lucius rolled out from under her, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Ginny continued. "Well, I didn't bring it to your attention then." She paused for a moment, watching him, looking at the back of him. "What's wrong? Why are you facing away from me?"

He rubbed at his head with his hands and then stood, facing her. Lucius opened his mouth as if to say something, and then turned away again, visibly distressed. Ginny watched him as he began to pace, her mouth slightly open—she had never seen him as putout as this.

"What are you—come here," she said, trying to grab at him with flailing arms. "Will you just—stop moving! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Lucius ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "I think I want to marry you."

Ginny sat back on her heels. "You think?" Her mouth was open, and he couldn't tell if she was offended that he even wanted to marry her, or because he had used such vague wording.

"No, I think I know. I _know_ I want to marry you."

She frowned. "Why?"

Lucius stopped moving and faced her. "I—I—" He fell silent.

Ginny exhaled and frowned harder. "Why? Because you want to make your daughter legitimate? Is there enough of the Pureblood shite left in the world that that is your reason?"

"No, not entirely." He looked uncomfortable.

"Not _entirely_? So it's part of the reason? She's just a baby. She doesn't need to be legitimate. I don't want her to be traded off to some Pureblooded shit-head like a commodity. Will you use her to gain another salt mine?"

Lucius winced, and then narrowed his eyes. "No, and that was uncalled for. You've escalated this discussion very quickly and I think it's partially because you're so exhausted—"

"I _know_ that, Lucius. I'm exhausted and I'm probably overreacting, but—" she swiped a hand through her hair. "How could I believe that you want to marry me out of anything but societal expectations and rules? You've never even said that you've _loved_ me—and I said I was fine with that, and I am, if we continue on this path. But—but I don't want myself or my daughter to be playing pieces in some Pureblood world."

"I'm barely part of that world."

"But you still _are_. You're the head of one of the oldest families. I just—" Her shoulders slumped and he felt the overwhelming urge to gather her into his arms. "I feel as though you care for me more without the title of husband or wife—as though—as though you have to fight for it. For the relationship. As though you have to fight to make it work, because we aren't bound together and because we're so illegitimate." Suddenly, her voice became harsher and more frantic, as though she was coming to some sort of realisation "This is _so_, _so_ against Pureblood society rules—you, holed up in your mansion, with your blood traitor girlfriend and your bastard baby." Her voice rose.

Lucius strode toward her so suddenly that she didn't see him coming, and he grabbed her wrists so hard she knew they would bruise. He looked _furious_.

"You're hurting me," she said calmly, instantly sobered.

"If it shuts you the _fuck_ up, I don't care," he hissed, shaking her slightly. She was briefly reminded of the Lucius she had seen in the Ministry back when she was fourteen. Ginny didn't wince, merely met his eyes.

Lucius wanted to rattle some sense into her. She was kneeling up on the bed, meeting his eyes, her wrists held tightly in his hands. It had to hurt. He knew it had to hurt, because he was holding her so tightly that his own fingers were losing feeling. He wasn't sure if he wanted to smack her or kiss her.

"Listen to me," he growled. "_Listen_ to me, and don't interrupt, or I'll hide you. You're acting your goddamned age. Not everything has to be about flowery _fucking_ sentiments, all _I-love-you_ and handkerchiefs and presents and poetry."

"I never said it was," she answered evenly.

"Shut up, shut up. You don't _listen_ to me." He looked odd, as though he were holding back tears, or trying to say something that was stuck in his throat. "I don't want to marry you because I want to legitimize our daughter. It's not about that. Not about Pureblood expectations, not about having the perfect Pureblood wife. I _had_ that, don't you see? I _had_ that and it ended poorly and it wasn't good. Yes, if I married you, our daughter would have more rights—if I died, or if you died, the living spouse wouldn't have to worry about someone taking her away. Think about it, Ginevra. What happens if you die—or if something grievous happens to you? Phaedra will get _taken_ away from me. You know that as well as I do. I have no rights over her."

Ginny inhaled.

"So yes, I suppose, in some way, marriage would _legitimize_ her. If she were ever orphaned, she would have access to the Malfoy fortunes, and would never go needy. But that's not it. I want to marry you because I already think of you as a wife, and a part of me—call it some old-fashioned part—needs a wedding to make that official, to make me believe that you would never leave. And I know that you didn't want a marriage, and I don't want anything to become loveless. I don't want you to fear turning into your mother. But I can't imagine my life without you."

He stopped, winded slightly.

"And I do love you." He dropped her wrists, making as though to step back.

She was too fast for him, reacting like lightning.

Ginny grabbed his face and pulled him haphazardly and violently to her, kissing him roughly, gasping into his mouth, curling her hands in his hair. Lucius let her kiss him, his hands by his side. She tasted salty and sweet—she pressed her breasts into his chest, dug her fingers into the nape of his neck.

When she pulled away, sucking briefly on his lower lip, she grabbed his hand and placed a kiss in the centre of the palm. "Let's get married."

"When?" He didn't even appear taken aback.

"Tomorrow? Can we fill out the papers at the Ministry and be married by an official there?"

Lucius nodded slowly. "Yes, we could."

"Well—do you want me to wear white? I don't really want to."

"No," he said. "No, just wear what you want. We can go in the afternoon, maybe around two o'clock?"

Ginny nodded. "The more low-key, the better. The papers might not catch on."

"Good."

Lucius paused, and then somewhat awkwardly slid into the bed, and she slipped under the covers beside him. They were both silent. Lucius finally allowed the shock he felt at Ginny's consent to wash over him, and Ginny was smiling into the dark at his admission of love.

She turned over and laid an arm across his chest, and he took her hand, stroking it thoughtfully.

* * *

The next day, Lucius and Ginny were married quietly, without much ceremony, at the Ministry in the middle of the afternoon. She had eschewed the diamond in lieu of a simple, thick band, identical to his, but instead of the left ring finger, they wore theirs on the right.

"It will stop people from asking stupid questions," Ginny had said, and Lucius had nodded and then kissed her forehead.

When they left the Ministry at three o'clock, Ginny wearing a sharp pantsuit and Lucius in his traditional waistcoat and trousers, they were officially husband and wife.

* * *

The letter came a few weeks after that, but Ginny decided that it was only coincidence, the timing.

She recognised the writing immediately, even though it had been long—too long—since she had seen her mother's penmanship on paper.

She was still holding the paper in her fingers when Lucius came into the room fifteen minutes later, his daughter held on his hip, and if Ginny hadn't been so distracted she might have laughed at the stereotypically matriarchal position that Lucius had assumed—one hip cocked out to provide a sort of ledge for his daughter, one long arm snaked around the baby body.

As it was, she was looking out the window, and this made him move quickly over to her, take the paper from her hands worriedly, read it, his eyes scanning.

When he set it down, she looked up at him, and their smiles matched—small but hopeful.


	42. Epilogue

Ginny looked out from the patio of the Manor, her hand up to her brow, shielding her eyes from the orange sinking sun. Her hair hung down her back, un-brushed and wild, and the burnished late-day light made it shine that much more. She walked out onto the limestone tiles, barefoot and relishing the sweet feel of the warmed stone on the soles of her feet.

She looked out over the gardens, searching for what she knew so well. Her eyes lighted on a white blond head of hair.

Lucius was crouched down, surrounded by tiger lillies, the wind catching his hair and whipping it around his face, creating a maelstrom of white gold.

Beside him, their four-year old daughter was talking animatedly, trying to pull the heads off of the orange flowers, Lucius gently catching her hands and laughing at her when she frowned back at him. Ginny watched as eventually he snapped a flower off for her, tucking it into her reddish blonde hair.

Lucius looked up and Ginny smiled, one arm on her hip and one arm still up, shielding her face from the sun. His eyes met hers from across the seas of colours, the flowers bobbing merrily in the slight summer breeze, and he smiled back at her, the grin so rare and crooked and honest that she felt like weeping or laughing, like clapping her hands.

"Mummy!"

Her daughter had darted out from the flower patch and was running jaggedly towards her, her unruly hair out behind her, the flower hanging precariously from her ear, her bare feet creating little imprints on the lush green carpet of the Manor's grass.

From behind her, Ginny could positively feel the house sigh with pleasure at the newest Malfoy scion approaching.

"Hello, darling." Ginny hefted Phaedra into her arms, wincing a little at her weight. She was getting so big. "Watch out. The flower that daddy gave you is falling out." Lucius was walking towards them, his pace not as frenzied as his daughter's. Ginny tucked the flower back into its place. "What were you doing in the garden together? Talking to faeries?"

Phaedra laughed a laugh that Ginny still was amazed at—a deep, hearty chuckle that seemed so wonderfully out of place coming from a child's mouth. She threw her little head back and laughed and laughed, and the sound carried across the garden.

"Mummy. The faeries don't live in the lillies. You know that. They live in the roses. The _roses_, mummy!"

"Oh, right," Ginny said seriously. "I forgot. Sorry, little light."

"We were looking for gnomes. Gnomes live in the _lillies_." Ginny looked at her matter-of-fact little girl, and grinned. "Daddy! _Daddy_." The words were crowed into Ginny's ear, and she laughed at the sheer volume of them. Her daughter was wriggling in her arms, and Ginny half-turned, realising that Phaedra was so excited because Lucius was almost directly behind them.

"Hello, love," he murmured, bending over and kissing Ginny full and lusciously on the mouth.

Phaedra watched hawkishly, soon extending her chubby arms towards her father.

"You too," he laughed and kissed her on the head. "Greedy girl."

"Are you excited to go to Nana's tomorrow?" Ginny nudged at her daughter.

"I like the Burrow," came the answer, and Lucius smiled at her over their child's shoulder.

Phaedra lay her head down heavily on Ginny's breasts and shoulder, sighing in her little-girl sighing sound, her small hands clutching happily at Ginny's dress and hair, and Lucius exhaled and wrapped his arms around both of them, looking down at his rapidly tiring daughter while sucking soft kisses along Ginny's neck.

"She's asleep," Ginny whispered. "What did you do—make her run circles around the garden again?" Her voice was shaking with suppressed laughter.

"No. I made her show me how she could dance. She really likes to dance, you know." His tone was almost haughty.

"Of course I know, you pillock," Ginny said, laughing fully now.

"She _also_," Lucius said, staring critically at her, "showed me her "seeker moves". Pray, do tell me—did she learn said 'moves' from you?"

Ginny cheered inside her head, so pleased that her daughter was taking an interest in Quidditch.

Lucius was glaring at her.

"Not just me! Draco, too. And Harry! We were all Seekers at one point. Besides, I refuse to feel guilty for teaching my daughter things about Quidditch. She's relentless. I'm sure you've noticed."

He sighed, long-suffering, but Ginny was right—their daughter was voracious, so smart, so physical—he had no doubts that she would be playing Qudditch just as her mother had.

Ginny went inside briefly to lay Phaedra down in her bed, and when she came back out, Lucius was standing with his hands in his pockets down in the patch of tiger lillies.

Ginny joined him, walking down barefoot across the grass, and when she reached him, he pulled her into him, winding a hand into her hair, tilting her head back as he kissed her deeply and strongly.

Her hands travelled to his trousers, and as she worked them open, he pulled her down to the ground, settling overtop of her, his weight a pleasant and delicious pressure all across her body, his hands pulling her dress up and over her head, spanning across her naked breasts, the softness of her hips and stomach as she slid his shirt off of him, helped him out of his pants.

As he slid inside of her, she breathed in the scent of tiger lillies. As she came, she whispered his name into his ear, again and again.

As he came, he murmured "I love you. I love you," over and over against her lips.

And as they lay there, supple and naked in the orange light, the sweet summer breeze cooling them, Ginny felt his semen inside of her, the strength of his leg thrown over her, the softness of his lips on her neck, and as she watched the flaming sun sink, she felt radiant.

.

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* * *

**Well, that brings this particular story to an end. Thanks to all of my lovely followers, reviewers, readers - I would not have done this without your constant encouragement, without your constant suggestions and edits and critiques. **

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**Thank you so much.**


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